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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586247">commander</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic'>cautiouslyoptimistic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:54:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>129,490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586247</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>she knows she is different because the others her age have been sorted into groups (warriors, healers, farmers, craftsmen, builders, and others), but she is told to remain with her family</p>
<p>or, lexa as she grows into being the commander</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Costia/Lexa (The 100)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Six-Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello all. just a PSA: yes this is a repost, yes I am theahhamoment/transientpermanence, yes this is my fic. the original version of this fic has been orphaned. a lot of people who read my stuff years ago may remember I reworked this fic after Lexa's death to incorporate shit from the show into it and also kinda 'fix' what the show did. I had loads of feelings about it. many of you preferred the original to this one so <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875893/chapters/8663155">here is the link</a> to the original. also this is incomplete for now but I'm working on it again</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Six</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She knows she is different because the others her age have been sorted into groups (warriors, healers, farmers, craftsmen, builders, and others), but she is told to remain with her family.</p>
<p>“There is time for you yet, child,” a woman with striking grey eyes tells her, a sad, knowing smile on her face.  She presses a hand to her shoulder, something like regret flashing over her face. Behind the woman, a bald man with a doleful expression and strange clothes watches the two of them, his hands clasped before him, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Do not be in a hurry to grow up.”</p>
<p>Later, while she watches her older brother chop wood—he is to be a warrior, and she looks up to him, admires and <em>envies </em>him—she is told that the woman is the <em>Commander</em>, that she had not planned on visiting their village, but her spirit had sent her here. At this point, her brother gives her a knowing look, a sad, small smile, and she knows that the Commander’s spirit telling her to come to their village is <em>not</em>a good thing.</p>
<p>But her Commander ordered her not to be in a hurry to grow up, so Lexa ignores her brother’s knowing look and sad, small smile (an expression eerily similar to the one the Commander herself gave Lexa), and she rushes off to the field to collect the flowers she knows her mother loves.</p>
<p>(The Commander and her strangely dressed bald companion leave their village the very next day, but not before telling Lexa that they would see each other again soon. Lexa forgets this almost as soon as the last of the Commander’s guards are out of sight.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Seven</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The little girl is not actually her little sister, but she does not mind the lie her parents tell her. She knows that the girl—not even two—has lost her parents to the <em>Maunon</em>, and Lexa is fiercely proud that her parents would take the child in (just one child is an honor, and her parents now have three to care for). She is also a little glad, because more and more often, large men with long beards and lean women with braids and tattoos that mark them as important warriors arrive in their village, pulling her away from her family to train.</p>
<p>Lexa is glad her parents have the little girl especially because, more and more, she gets the feeling that she will not be able to stay much longer.</p>
<p>The first time she gets this feeling is when one of the warriors training her shakes her head in disappointment when Lexa is unable to hold her stance correctly (the sword is too heavy, she wants to complain, but that will be weakness, and she has been warned about weakness).</p>
<p>“You are flimsy<em>, Leksa</em>,” the young woman says, not unkindly, as she fixes Lexa’s stance. It takes a second for Lexa to translate the woman’s words (they all speak English with her, tutting impatiently when it takes her too long to catch on to what they mean), and she breathes out deeply through her nose.</p>
<p>“Why must I learn this, Anya? My brother is the warrior.” She does not speak in English, but in <em>Trigedasleng</em>, and she ignores the Anya’s disapproving look. “I want to be a farmer, like my parents.” Farming is important to her people; it is far more honorable, her father likes to say, to grow life and provide for others than it is to take life. Lexa has never had reason to disagree. Anya however, shakes her head.</p>
<p>“You do not get a choice, Lexa,” she says, once again correcting Lexa’s stance. “You were born for the position you must fill—it is my job to ensure you are ready for it.” It is Lexa’s turn to tut impatiently, shaking her head in absolute frustration. She wants to complain in her native tongue, but a single look from her mentor quells the desire quickly. Instead, Lexa lets the sword drop to the ground, and she feels her shoulders droop as she looks up at the woman with the blonde hair and hard gaze (a gaze she usually cowers under, but this time, she merely meets it head-on, refusing to look away).</p>
<p>“Tell me then. Tell me what I was born for.” Anya smiles—a rare sight, Lexa thinks she has only witnessed it twice—and kneels down in front of Lexa so that they are eye-level.</p>
<p>“You were born to be a warrior. You were born <em>for</em>your people.”</p>
<p>“I do not know what that <em>means</em>,” Lexa says, and Anya’s smile slips away. She stands in one fluid motion and looks down at Lexa, who finally turns away, no longer able to keep up the eye contact (she thinks she is brave, but she <em>knows</em>she is not stupid).</p>
<p>“It means your stance is flimsy and you must fix it. Now, pick up your blade.” And no matter how much Lexa prods over the next few days of training, Anya never mentions what Lexa was born for.</p>
<p>The second time she feels that her time with her family is quickly coming to an end is when one of the large, bearded men who teach her about subjects she cares nothing for—things like strategy, diplomacy, the politics of the different Clans, and the history of their people—tells her she will be great one day.</p>
<p>“What does that mean, Gustus?” she asks him with narrowed eyes, more confident in her English after a few months of speaking nothing else. “Why will <em>I</em>be great?” Gustus huffs gruffly, but Lexa can tell he is hiding a smile.</p>
<p>“You are smart, Lexa. And you are strong. This is a rare combination.”</p>
<p>“Our healer says that it is important to be strong, smart, <em>and</em>good, and that our warriors have forgotten that.” Gustus does not look happy about her comment, and he shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Remember, <em>Leksa</em>,” he says, slipping into <em>Trigedasleng</em>pointedly, clearly wanting to ensure she does not misunderstand what he wants to say. “Sometimes, being good is not an option. Sometimes, to make the smart and strong choice, you must sacrifice what is good.”</p>
<p>“I do not think I could do that,” Lexa says softly, worried about disappointing this warrior who laughs at her jokes (unlike Anya) and who brings dried fruit to help particularly boring lessons pass by more quickly. Gustus places a gentle hand on top of her head as he lets out a sigh.</p>
<p>“You will be great one day, Lexa,” he repeats. “And though your hands may one day be stained, in your heart, you will always be good.”</p>
<p>The third time she feels she cannot stay for much longer—or more accurately, she discovers that she <em>knows</em>she must leave soon—is when she is with her brother.</p>
<p>They do not play together anymore, that had ceased when he turned twelve a summer ago and became a second. Now, they spend time together when they accompany the other warriors on hunts, when there is a need for chopped wood and she and Rox are assigned the task, or at nights, when she returns home—exhausted from her day with Anya, who has stayed longer than normal in their village—and he is still awake so that he can ensure she eats something before falling asleep.</p>
<p>They do not play anymore, but Lexa has never felt closer to him: he is to be a warrior, and she…well, she thinks she is too.</p>
<p>“Do you know who Anya is, Lexa?” he asks her in stiff English one night as he pushes a plate of food towards her. “Or Gustus? Do you know who they are?” Lexa frowns at the question and also at the tone her brother is using—she thinks he sounds…angry.</p>
<p>“They are warriors.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but do you know who assigned them to train you? Or why?”</p>
<p>“No. I have asked, but they refuse to tell me.” His eyes flash and he shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Can’t you put it all together?” he demands. “Don’t they teach you about the Commander, her legacy, or <em>Titus</em>?” She shakes her head in confusion.</p>
<p>“Yes, but…” she trails off, not understanding what he is trying to tell her. “Why are they here, Rox? You must know.” For a second, the old Rox, the one who looked at her with pity, with a sad smile, shines through. But old Rox is gone quickly, and in his place is the angry warrior she does not recognize.</p>
<p>“Do you know what they are preparing you for?” he asks in a heated whisper, and Lexa is shocked to see tears form in his eyes—this is a weakness Gustus taught her to never have, that Anya said made her look small and stupid. But on Rox, it is just heartbreaking, and she does not know why. “They’re preparing you to die, Lexa,” he says, switching to <em>Trigedasleng</em>, the tears spilling over and rolling down his cheeks, much to Lexa’s astonishment. She wonders if his anger was ever for her. “And you go along with it. Willingly.”</p>
<p>“No,” Lexa says (not switching to her native tongue like she so desires, hating the look in her brother’s eyes as she speaks), shaking her head. “I said I did not want this. But I have no choice.” Rox reaches out and he grabs her hands, squeezing them tightly.</p>
<p>“Please, Lexa,” he says, and though Lexa does not know what he is begging for, she nods curtly, her face blank (the way Anya taught her). She watches as her brother’s face crumples briefly before he too is able to school his features as <em>he</em>was taught. “We don’t want to watch this happen to you, Lexa,” he says, not explaining what ‘this’ is, making Lexa frown. “When you leave, make sure you never come back.” She nods again, and he leaves her, and it is only then that she lets her tears fall.</p>
<p>Lexa is glad when her parents take in the little girl. Because when she leaves—and she <em>will</em>leave—it will be good that they will have one daughter left, one who will be a farmer like them, one who will stay. When she leaves—and more and more she thinks that is just a nicer way of saying ‘when she dies’—her brother will still have a little sister to look after and love.</p>
<p>When she leaves, her family will not be alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After training one afternoon, only weeks after her brother’s tearful plea, Anya tells Lexa that she will be staying in their village permanently. “You will be my second,” she says, her eyebrows rising, as if she is daring Lexa to argue.</p>
<p>“I am not old enough. We become seconds at the age of twelve,” Lexa mutters, the closest she can get to resistance without actively standing up to the warrior. This causes Anya to laugh.</p>
<p>“You are an exception, Lexa. This is a good thing—you will be a warrior.” Lexa remembers what her brother said to her, remembers the tears in his eyes and her own desires to be a farmer like her parents, but she pushes it all away, blinking back tears that threaten to form in her eyes. She does not get a choice; she was born to fill a position; she will be great one day.</p>
<p>“I am honored to be your second, Anya,” she murmurs, looking down. She misses the flash of sorrow that passes over Anya’s face.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Eight</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Her mother is the only one she speaks <em>Trigedasleng</em>with.</p>
<p>Her brother is often not at home, his duties as a second taking him further and further away, and her little sister barely speaks at all. Anya and Gustus speak exclusively in English—“I know you do not like it, but I also do not care,” Anya likes to tell her—and she has no friends to speak of. It leaves her parents, and though she loves her father, the disappointment and sadness she sees in his eyes makes it difficult to speak with him at all. In fact, her mother is the sole person she converses with besides Gustus and Anya.</p>
<p>This does not seem to bother her mother at all.</p>
<p>“Lexa, help me with your sister,” her mother calls, practically shoving the child into Lexa’s arms.</p>
<p>“Would you like to know what I learned today with Gustus?” Lexa asks over her little sister’s head (the child will not be named until she gets through her fourth year, a tradition, her father once explained, that was started because children often did not survive to see it, and this practice made it easier on the parents). Her mother pauses whatever she is doing—since her lessons began, Lexa spends little to no time helping her parents, and knows little of what they do anymore—and nods with a smile.</p>
<p>“Of course, tell me everything.” And so Lexa does.</p>
<p>Other times, Lexa does not wish to speak with her mother, but cry on her shoulder, and her mother seems to know which it is intuitively. She notices Lexa crouching by a tree near their home with her head between her knees, and the next thing Lexa knows, she is being pulled into an embrace.</p>
<p>“It is all right, child,” her mother tells her soothingly, her grip tightening as they sway gently in place. “It will be all right.” And usually, Lexa believes her mother.</p>
<p>When she dies that summer, Lexa stops believing her.</p>
<p>A sickness goes around, an awful one that causes its victims to cough up blood, to be wracked with fever and hallucinations, to suffer through blinding headaches, and Lexa is somewhat unsurprised her mother becomes ill. Her mother is <em>good</em>, and she spends her days caring for the ill, caring for those even their healers had given up on despite all their protests.</p>
<p>“We have a duty to each other,” she tells Lexa blearily the morning before she falls ill. “Saving lives is much more important than taking them, Lexa.” She smiles and tucks a stray strand of Lexa’s hair behind her ear, her eyes—which Lexa has inherited, the only thing she has inherited—shining. “Do not forget that.” Lexa promises she will not, as long as her mother promises to be all right.  </p>
<p>The next day, she wakes up with a fever, and two days after that, she is gone, and Lexa wonders when her mother became a liar.  </p>
<p>“It is good to mourn the ones we love,” her father tells her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, his eyes shining with tears that are spilling into his beard. He is not a warrior, but he is just as strong, just as large, as any of them, and the sight of his tears makes Lexa’s stomach turn.</p>
<p>“I do mourn,” she answers in English, knowing he knows very little. The only one she was willing to speak <em>Trigedasleng</em>to is now dead and gone, so the language, too, is dead and gone. Lexa bites her lip hard, drawing blood, and pushes the thoughts of her mother away, trying to quell the crushing feeling in her chest, but she thinks her heart will shatter from the force of it.</p>
<p>Her father stares at her for another moment before nodding and walking away from the burning pyre, clearly unwilling to watch as what remained of his wife turns to ash. But Lexa remains, stock still, her back straight as if she is in battle.</p>
<p>“<em>Yu gonplei ste odon, nomon,</em>” she whispers, but like she expects, there is no soothing response. <em>It is not all right</em>, she wants to scream, <em>it is not all right and it will never be all right. </em>But later, when Anya asks her if she cried for her mother, Lexa does not respond, and Anya nods approvingly.</p>
<p>“The pain will pass, Lexa, I promise.” Lexa nods, but she does not believe her.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>//</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>She sees her brother again when they have their little sister’s naming ceremony.</p>
<p>It is never a big affair, usually reserved for immediate family and close friends, but her father—who has spiraled since his wife’s death—has turned it into somewhat of a farce. Anya sees this too, and she takes over the celebration.</p>
<p>Each family member gives one thing to a child the spring of their fourth year. Rox gives the little girl a blessing, and her father gives her a name (Tris, he says with tears in his eyes, and Lexa pretends not to feel the lurch in her stomach at her mother’s name, not to feel a pang in her chest.) Instead, she steps forward and gives Tris two things: a prayer and a promise. She prays that the little girl will become just as soft, just as kind, just as wise as their mother, and she promises that she will always be there for her. Lexa notices that her brother and father seem pleased by her gifts, but Anya looks furious. It takes the older woman only seconds to grab her by the arm and drag her out of her home.</p>
<p>“You cannot make promises like that,” Anya says, her eyes narrowing. “It is selfish and foolish to believe you can be there for anyone.”</p>
<p>“If I am to be a warrior, then why not promise to be there for her? I want to be able to protect her.” Anya growls.</p>
<p>“She will not know you, Lexa. She will <em>never</em>know you. This village,” Anya gestures all around her, “is not where you belong. You will leave, soon, and you will never look back.”</p>
<p>“<em>Why</em>?” Lexa demands, throwing her hands up in the air.</p>
<p>“Because you love this village. You love the people here,” Anya says softly. She steps forward and she holds Lexa by the shoulders, something in her features hardening—almost as if she is steeling herself to continue to speak. “And your love will be its downfall. So learn to forget this place and the people here. If you want to protect her, harden your heart, Lexa.”</p>
<p>“<em>Why</em>? Please, Anya, just tell me. Why do I matter?” She cannot help the tears that fill her eyes, and Anya falls to her knees, her eyes sad.</p>
<p>“Because you will be <em>heda</em>, Lexa. The Spirit has chosen you, and when our Commander dies, you must take her place.” Lexa shakes her head violently, suddenly unable to breathe.</p>
<p>“No. I am not strong enough. The Spirit chose wrong.” Anya lets out a gruff laugh and she pulls Lexa into a hug—the first one she has ever given.</p>
<p>“You are <em>strong</em>, Lexa. And you will be a great Commander.” Lexa is unable to stop the flow of tears, but Anya says nothing; she merely holds onto Lexa until her sobs have subsided and her cheeks are dry. “You will be great one day, of that I have no doubt.”</p>
<p>And somehow, Lexa believes her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She and Anya leave for a place called Polis two weeks later.</p>
<p>Her farewells are brief and tearless. Her father hugs her, whispers in her ear to stay strong, be smart, and be good (and her heart clenches at the last one, because Gustus has already warned her that she will not be good). Rox does not hug her, but the look in his eyes makes Lexa want to cry, to scream, to beg to stay home.</p>
<p>“Remember your promise to me, Lexa,” he says with his sad, small smile (and if Lexa understands now why he asked her to never return, if she realizes the request was more for her than for him, she does not dwell on it). “Remember that you will always be my little sister.” Lexa nods once, shakily and tentative, before she moves to kiss Tris’s forehead, the little four year old staring up at her in confusion.</p>
<p>And when Anya grabs her by the shoulder and gently leads her away, Lexa does not protest, and she does not look back. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They take her to the Commander first.</p>
<p>(Lexa tries to convince herself she is not afraid of this woman she doesn’t even remember.)</p>
<p>(She fails.)</p>
<p>Lexa remembers nothing but her striking grey eyes, and the image she has conjured for herself is nothing close to reality. The Commander is <em>young</em>, possibly merely a few years older than Anya. Her long brown hair is pulled back in complicated braids, her clothes look stiff and uncomfortable, and the guard that rests on her shoulder seems heavy and cumbersome. Standing silently behind her is the bald man in the strange clothes. His head is slightly inclined, his brows furrowed nervously, and though he opens his mouth to speak, the Commander merely raises her right hand and his mouth snaps shut.</p>
<p>“I’ve heard your complaints, Titus, and I grow weary of them,” the Commander says eyes flickering to the side, her hand falling. “My mind is made up.” The bald man—Titus—bows low, and without bothering to even look at Lexa, he sweeps out of the room, robes billowing behind him.</p>
<p>Lexa feels Anya push her forward, and she begins hesitantly walking towards the large wooden throne, trying to remember all of Anya’s lessons (trying to remember to walk with a straight back, to keep her chin up, to ensure her features remained impassive). “There you are!” the Commander says, a tiny smile appearing on her face when she notices Lexa and Anya. She steps away from her throne and towards a large table covered in maps and small figurines and motions for Lexa to step further into the room. “<em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>, you are a very special girl.” Lexa notices that the Commander’s expression does not match her tone, and she is reminded again of what her brother had said: <em>They’re preparing you to die</em>. So she does not speak. Somehow, this seems to be the right answer, because the Commander laughs. “You are a smart girl, Lexa. I can see why the Spirit would choose you.”</p>
<p>“It chose wrong, <em>heda</em>,” Lexa suddenly says, horrified at her own outburst. But though Anya is pursing her lips disapprovingly, the Commander nods thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“It is not a weakness to be afraid, Lexa,” she says kindly. “But you must never let your fear govern your actions.” Lexa wants to protest, and the Commander must sense this, because she holds up a hand—and just like with Titus, the mere action makes Lexa fall completely silent, unwilling to even consider disobeying. “I do not know why you were chosen. There has never been a Commander from a small village like yours.” She steps forward and places a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, and the action—which is so comforting when it is Anya’s hand—makes her want to shiver. “But the Spirit did not choose wrong. Of that, I am quite sure.”</p>
<p>They are dismissed soon after that, Lexa is given a room in the Commander’s tower (right in the heart of Polis), and she is told she has two days to rest—to explore—before the real work begins.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes her only a single morning to know Polis like the back of her hand.</p>
<p>It is a large, expansive city, quite different from the village she grew up in, with street vendors yelling at her as she walks down the cobbled roads, homes that are more than sheets of metal but made with actual wood, and a large area in which one could sit at tables and buy food (so unlike the way everyone in her village had to hunt and grow food for their meals).</p>
<p>In Polis, just like in her village, Lexa is immediately seen as different, as special. She thinks it is the clothes—everyone, from the vendors to the warriors, wears shades of blue, black, and grey. Lexa however, is given a deep red sash and told to wrap it around her waist.</p>
<p>“It is a mark of who you are, Lexa,” Anya explains as she teaches her how to tie it properly. “When you become Commander, it will be on your shoulder guard and flow behind you.”</p>
<p>“What does it mean? Why is it red?” Anya rolls her eyes at the question, but answers anyway.</p>
<p>“Blood, my little <em>heda-</em>to-be. It symbolizes blood.” Lexa swallows, but is unsure how to respond, so she lets it go.</p>
<p>It is not, however, merely the clothes that mark her. Anya’s constant presence, the way she is never asked to pay for anything, the way the children stop when they notice her walking in the street and incline their heads stiffly, all of these mark her as different, as <em>other</em>, and she has never felt more alone. But when she asks Anya if they are friends, the older woman seems a little frustrated.</p>
<p>“You have no time for friends, Lexa,” she says, but Lexa goes to bed with a smile because Anya did not say no (which is as close to a yes as she thinks she will ever get from her mentor).</p>
<p>Training too, changes. It is no longer just lessons with Gustus and fighting with Anya. She is thrown against opponents older and stronger than herself, and she is forced to take ‘exams’ with Titus, to prove she is learning all that she is taught. The exams terrify her more than the bigger and stronger opponents who make her bleed and attempt to break her bones.</p>
<p>“A new threat emerges from the east, Lexa. What do you do?” Gustus asks her, a frown appearing on his face as he attempts to prepare her for an exam with Titus she is absolutely unprepared for. Lexa stares down at the map he has marked up for her, swallowing hard.</p>
<p>“I send warriors to get rid of the threat before refocusing my attention on the food shortage.” Gustus shakes his head wearily.</p>
<p>“And you have just killed them all,” he says, expressing the loss by furiously scratching out the warriors on the map. “What was your mistake?” Lexa clenches her fists.</p>
<p>“I <em>have</em>to send the warriors to take care of the threat. Otherwise the people in that village would die.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but now there are no extra hands to help with the food shortage, and your people have all died from starvation,” Gustus says harshly, causing Lexa to wince. “Sometimes, to win a war, you must concede a battle. You must be able to give up that village in order to save the rest of your people.” Lexa swallows again, her fingers grazing over the imaginary village drawn on the map.</p>
<p>“It is <em>wrong</em>, Gustus,” she says in a whisper, and he gives her an unreadable look.</p>
<p>“It is also your only choice. You cannot save us all, Lexa, so you must be ruthless and help as many as you can survive.” He pauses and looks at her carefully. “Do you understand?” Lexa blinks back tears and nods.</p>
<p>“Yes, I do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On hunts, she has always been an observer, but three weeks after arriving in Polis, the Commander requests that Lexa accompany her on a hunt, to get her first kill.</p>
<p>At first, Lexa is excited. She has been practicing every day—her footwork is sure and silent, her movements measured. She is ready to get her first kill—she is ready to prove that he Spirit did not choose wrong (because, intuitively, she knows this is a test, that the Commander wants to see what she is capable of).</p>
<p>So when she spots the deer, grazing peacefully about fifty paces away, Lexa nearly grins. She nocks an arrow and aims, trying to ignore the feeling of the Commander’s gaze on her back. Lexa sighs softly, pulls back on the bowstring, and is about to release it when something stays her hand.</p>
<p><em>Saving lives is much more important than taking them, Lexa</em>.</p>
<p><em>Shof op</em>, Lexa thinks furiously. <em>This is </em>not <em>the same</em>.</p>
<p><em>Do not forget that</em>, her mother tells her, and Lexa feels the bow and arrow slip out of her hands. It is not the same, she thinks to herself, but somehow, it is.</p>
<p>Lexa is drawn out of her thoughts when the Commander claps her on the shoulder, something shining in her eyes. “Sometimes,” the woman says loudly so that the others can hear, making Lexa’s cheeks burn with embarrassment because everyone will be privy to her failure, “the mark of true strength comes not from being able to take a life, but knowing when not to.” Lexa’s head snaps up, and the Commander points towards the deer, where two fawns have joined it. “Had you killed her, her children would have starved,” she says softly, a smile on her face. “You have good instincts, Lexa, do not doubt them.” Lexa nods, flushing with pride, and feeling a surge of affection for the Commander who seems to have so much faith in her.</p>
<p>“Yes, <em>heda</em>,” she says, and the Commander’s smile widens.</p>
<p>“Now, we still have hunting to do. Pick up your bow, Lexa. We must get you your first kill.”</p>
<p>(They do—it’s a wild hog, and Lexa’s aim proves to be impeccable. The Commander ruffles Lexa’s hair with a grin, and Anya stands back, the grin on her face her version of beaming with pride, and Lexa thinks this is the best day she’s ever had.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “You are entering your ninth year soon,” Anya says one night as she teaches Lexa how to pull her hair back in the same intricate braids as the Commander (yet another sign of how she is different, of who she is to her people). “Is there anything you wish for?” Lexa blinks, surprised by the softness of Anya’s tone, and she somehow knows that she can be honest—that whatever admission she makes will not be taken as weakness or reported to the Commander.</p>
<p>“There is nothing I want, Anya,” she says, lying. Because she wants to see Rox and Tris, wants to tell her father about the wild hog she killed, wants to hug her mother again, wants to be able to tell someone about all the things she wants but knows she is not supposed to desire. Because she knows, no matter Anya’s tone, she cannot admit her weaknesses. Not to anyone.</p>
<p>This, the Commander has told her in confidence, is one of the true challenges of being a leader—your desires are no longer of importance and they will <em>always</em>be used against you.</p>
<p>She knows she has passed this test—because of course it is a test, <em>everything </em>is a test—when Anya chuckles and shoves her head gently forward. “You are a liar, Lexa,” she says with another laugh, before she grows serious. “That is good.”</p>
<p>She is unable to sleep that night, her thoughts only on liars and how they’re made (because Lexa turned her good mother into a liar, and now, Anya and the Commander have turned Lexa into one).</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Nine</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Some days, Anya is called away on errands for the Commander. On those days, without her mentor hanging over her shoulder and watching her every move, Lexa removes the red sash that marks her as different and dons clothing she stole from one of the Commander’s young aides. Then, before the sun has even risen, Lexa slips past the guards who man the gates to Polis, and heads to the edge of the woods surrounding the city, where there is a small pond.</p><p>The entire trip takes no more than an hour—hardly long enough for anyone, even the ever watchful Titus, to notice she’s gone—and the pond provides a much needed relief from the unforgiving rays of the sun, washing away the dirt, dust, grime, and sweat of the summer. Lexa grins as she tucks her sweaty hair behind her ears, and without bothering to undress, jumps into the water.</p><p>It is not deep at all—only up to her shoulders—but Lexa has to hold back giggles as she half swims from one end to the other, reveling in the feeling of the water. Anya never lets her do anything remotely fun anymore, claiming that her duties were to her people. “You are to be the <em>heda</em>, Lexa,” she keeps saying, “You cannot be a child anymore.” At first, Lexa would counter with the Commander’s own words, stiffly informing her mentor that she was <em>not</em>to grow up quickly. But Gustus overheard her comment one afternoon and sat her down, his eyes sad but unwavering from hers.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>gave you three years. She gave you a gift, Lexa. Now it is time for you to thank her for it.” At the time, Lexa had not responded—she just turned around and left. But she knows what she would say now. <em>It is unfair</em>, she thinks harshly to herself as she floats in the water, her eyes on the blue sky. She became a second four years early. She only spends any time with her teachers, Anya, Titus, and sometimes, with the Commander. She is never allowed to go anywhere on her own, and training has become so violent that the only thing she wishes to do afterwards is lay in bed and never move.</p><p>What has <em>heda </em>given her, really?</p><p>She is so caught up in her thoughts about the Commander and Gustus’s words that she does not notice the stranger’s presence until the young girl speaks, startling her. “I know who you are.” Lexa’s head snaps towards the voice, and her eyes narrow when she spots the girl.</p><p>She cannot be much older than Lexa herself, but there is a wide, open smile on her face, and her dark eyes are alight. Lexa feels her lips twist in disgust—this girl is happy, and though she does not know her, Lexa hates her for just that reason.</p><p>“Where did you learn English?”</p><p>“All warriors learn English,” the girl responds, looking down at Lexa in amusement. She walks over to the edge of the water and kneels down, grinning slightly. “I know who you are,” she repeats, but Lexa is sure she is lying because she is not inclining her head stiffly like the other children—she is not staring at her like she is different.</p><p>“You are not even old enough to be a second. Where did you learn English?” As she speaks, she shifts so that one of her feet is brushing against a large rock at the bottom of the pond. It will give her surer footing should this girl try to attack her.</p><p>“My father is a healer,” the girl says with a shrug, and Lexa nearly rolls her eyes.</p><p>“It is forbidden to teach children English before they are sorted,” Lexa mutters, leaving out the part that the rule is nearly always broken, and that it does not apply to the children of warriors at all. (It is unfair, she thinks, much like Anya and Gustus’s expectations.)</p><p>“Will you tell <em>heda</em>?” the girl asks teasingly, her grin widening. “Should I fear for my life?”</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>“A warrior.” Lexa crosses her arms over her chest at this response and she glares at the girl—glares at this girl who is happy, who is grinning, who is making Lexa feel uneasy and restless.</p><p>“You say you know who I am. Then you must know you should answer honestly.” The girl’s smile slips off her face and she shakes her head, her curly dark hair falling into her eyes before she roughly drags her fingers through it and pushes it back.</p><p>“Why do you think I am lying?”</p><p>“You are too young to be a warrior.”</p><p>“And you are too young to be <em>heda</em>,” she says, a smile returning. “Yet that is what you are.” Lexa’s hand goes to the knife tucked into her belt.</p><p>“I am not <em>heda</em>.” The girl studies Lexa for a moment, as if she were something strange, and then shifts so that she is sitting on her haunches. Lexa wonders if she is preparing to attack, and her grip on her knife tightens.</p><p>“But you will be,” says the girl before she carelessly throws herself back so that she is laying on the grass—leaving herself completely vulnerable and further discrediting her claim that she is a warrior. No warrior would be so stupid. “And I will be a warrior.” Lexa feels a rush of envy at the longing in her voice. She knows what she wants, knows exactly where she fits in the world, but mostly importantly, she is sure of what she will be, and Lexa cannot imagine any greater gift. Because becoming <em>heda</em>, what that means or entails, is still a mystery to her.</p><p>“You will be an awful warrior,” Lexa mutters, wading out of the water and kicking the girl’s foot. “You leave yourself too open.” This just makes her laugh, and she turns away from the sky to eye Lexa.</p><p>“It is not wrong to be open,” she says.</p><p>“It is suicidal and stupid.” At this, the girl sits up, her brows drawn together in confusion.</p><p>“I have faith, <em>heda</em>. Do you not have faith?”</p><p>“I am not <em>heda</em>,” Lexa repeats, and the girl shrugs, giving Lexa a knowing look.</p><p>“I suppose that is a ‘no,’” she laughs, shrugging again. “We will be good friends, I can already tell.” Lexa knows she should say what Anya always tells her (“There is no time for friends”) but instead, she finds herself moving over to sit cross-legged next to the girl, leaning back so that her eyes are on the sky.</p><p>“My name is Lexa,” she whispers, her heart pounding because she is not supposed to do this, she is not supposed to leave herself open. Yet somehow, she feels as if she can trust this girl—with just this much, at least, she can trust this girl.</p><p>“I am Costia,” the girl replies just as softly, and Lexa must turn her head to hide her smile.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She does not need Anya’s unimpressed snorts or Gustus’s wary glances to know that Titus does not like her or trust her. She can feel the weight of his gaze when she runs into him between training with Anya and her lessons with Gustus. She sees his frown and furrowed brows when the Commander calls for her and they spend hours sitting in total silence—Lexa watching the Commander and the Commander going over reports as she makes notes, muttering to herself and occasionally asking Titus questions.</p><p>She does not know the extent to which Titus does not like her, however, until he takes it upon himself to tell her.</p><p>She stumbles on him purely by accident—the tower is much like a maze, and though she has spent hours exploring, there seems to be something new to discover each day. She has just found a passage that is out of the way (an old escape route, she thinks, considering how the entrance was hidden and the exit comes out behind the tower and right next to the Commander’s large garden, out of sight of the bustling crowds and numerous food stands), when she feels a hand on her shoulder, grip tight—almost painful.</p><p>“It is time you and I spoke, Lexa,” Titus murmurs, his voice deep and regretful, and Lexa’s hand goes to the knife at her waist as she allows him to lead her towards the war room, <em>heda’s </em>throne unusually vacant. “Do you know who I am?” he asks, motioning for her to sit on the steps before the throne as he takes his usual spot, standing to the right of where <em>heda </em>normally sits.</p><p>“You are the Flamekeeper.” His eyes—normally on the ground whenever the Commander is near, head inclined and hands clasped in front of him—focus on Lexa, glinting distrustfully.</p><p>“Yes, but do you know what that is?” he asks, voice still low though tinged with something Lexa does not recognize.</p><p>“No, <em>fleimkepa</em>.”</p><p>“I attend to <em>heda</em>, Lexa. I serve her, as I served the Commander before her and I will serve the one that comes after her. I ensure the cycle remains unbroken, that the Spirit passes on as intended.” He sounds proud, his head held high and his eyes alight. “And you, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>, pose a threat.”</p><p>“I do not understand,” Lexa says, grateful that her voice remains steady even as her hand—still gripping the knife—shakes.</p><p>“You pose a threat to the cycle because you are unpredictable, a variable that has never existed before.” He steps forward, almost threateningly, bending slightly, ensuring Lexa cannot break his gaze. “My job is to protect <em>heda</em>. And I will do so, even if it is from a <em>Natblida</em>.” This word is unfamiliar, but Lexa refuses to allow her fear and confusion to show on her face. She stares right back at Titus, willing her hand to stop shaking, attempting to keep the quivering of her bottom lip under control.</p><p>“I am not a threat to the Commander,” she says, swallowing hard when this just makes Titus raise his eyebrows. “She is <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“And she says that one day, you will be too.”</p><p>“I obey <em>heda</em>,” she says, a quiver in her voice as she looks away. She is terrified—she knows she has given that away—but the threat implicit in her comment is nonetheless quite clear: she obeys <em>heda</em>; does he? Surprisingly, though she thinks Titus will capitalize on the fear she has let him see, he smiles and steps back, the dangerous glint in his eyes finally disappearing.</p><p>“A Nightblood always trains with their mentor far away from Polis and the Commander,” he says, crouching down in front of her, once more placing his hand on her shoulder, though this time, his grip is gentle. “What makes you different, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>? Why does the Spirit call so strongly to you?” He clearly does not expect a response; he straightens and motions for her to get to her feet, his lips quirked slightly, as if he is about to smile. “Off you go, child,” he murmurs. “You must train hard if you wish to follow in your <em>heda’s </em>footsteps.” Lexa does not need to be told twice.</p><p>Without a single look back, she rushes off, resolving to avoid Titus as much as she possibly can.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>There are rumors of a war brewing between the <em>Trikru </em>and an outlying Clan, and Lexa is told she must attend all the meetings with the generals. “You are here to watch and learn, Lexa,” the Commander tells her, Titus—as always—standing behind her, his eyes never straying too far from Lexa. “Say nothing during the meeting. You and I will confer once my generals leave us.” Lexa’s nods, and she tightens the sash around her waist needlessly before following the Commander into the war room, Titus trailing behind them.</p><p>The generals who surround the enormous round table are large and terrifying, but when she spots Gustus (who offers her a wink), Lexa feels more at ease and moves to stand at the Commander’s side unhesitatingly. Several of the men and women she has never met before stare at her in wonder.</p><p>“This is Lexa,” the Commander says, her tone cold and harsh—certainly nothing like what she uses with Lexa. “My Spirit has chosen her to be my successor.”</p><p>“She looks weak, <em>heda</em>,” a large woman standing in the back says gruffly, leaning forward and eyeing Lexa threateningly. “As if a summer’s breeze will blow her away.” The Commander raises an eyebrow and turns to Lexa questioningly.</p><p>“Are you weak like Grenda thinks, Lexa?” she asks, and Lexa feels her heart hammer in her chest. She thinks she is being asked to prove herself, but she does not know how, does not know how to prove she is strong when she always feel so weak. As Lexa’s silence grows longer, Grenda begins to laugh cruelly, and Lexa can feel her eyes burn. Everyone is watching her, everyone is testing her, and instead of proving her strength, she thinks she is about to cry (<em>again, </em>she thinks ashamedly, remembering her show of weakness before Titus, <em>again</em>).</p><p>Her hands begin to shake, and she is somewhat worried that her heart will beat right out her chest.</p><p><em>Say nothing during the meeting</em>, Lexa suddenly remembers the Commander instructing her, and a sense of calm washes over her, almost as if she is somewhere else, somewhere where all eyes are <em>not </em>on her, where no one is waiting for her to fail, where no one doubts her strength. Her hands stop shaking, her heart rate slows, and the burning of her eyes ebbs, and Lexa feels calm enough to look unflinchingly back at Grenda. After what seems like ages, the Commander lets out a laugh and places a hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“You see?” she asks, addressing the generals. “The Commander’s Spirit is never wrong.” She pauses and looks around, as if to make sure no one dares question her again, and then gestures towards the maps and reports in front of her. “Now, let us address the real problem.” Everyone grunts their assent, and Gustus offers her the tiniest of smiles before he uses his eyes to redirect her attention back to the generals.</p><p>The problem, Lexa quickly gathers, is with the Boat Clan. The waters are dangerous this time of year, and they are unable to fish, meaning that food is scarce. Yet, instead of asking for food—for aid—the Boat Clan has resorted to attacking several <em>Trikru </em>villages. Lexa watches as the Commander’s face darkens, her back and shoulders stiffening.</p><p>This is the <em>Commander</em>, Lexa realizes suddenly. Not the woman who praised her first kill, not the leader who believed she was worth something. This is a cold, hard warrior, and for the first time, Lexa wonders if <em>this </em>is what she is being taught to become—if <em>this </em>is what it means to be <em>heda</em>.</p><p>“They made a grave error when they killed my people,” the Commander says, her jaw clenching. “<em>Jus drein jus daun</em>. Blood <em>must </em>have blood.” Lexa’s blood runs cold as the Commander turns to her, the usual kind smile replaced by a twisted grimace. “Do you understand, Lexa? Blood must <em>always </em>have blood.”</p><p>Lexa nods, keeping her face as blank as she can (as Anya has taught her), but by the look in the Commander’s eyes, she is rather sure she was unable to hide her fear (<em>again</em>, she feels with more shame burning through her, avoiding Titus’s gaze as best she can). And that, she thinks as she swallows nervously and refuses to break eye contact, is weakness.</p><p>So weak that a summer’s breeze could blow her away.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>With the Boat Clan becoming more and more bold, the Commander spends very little time in Polis. At first, Lexa does not mind the separation—despite how fond she is of the older woman—because she has not been able to rid herself of the dark, harsh look the Commander had sported during her meeting with her generals. But then she learns that the Commander is going into battle, leading her people in a war against the Boat Clan, and she is gripped with fear.</p><p>What if the Commander dies? What if Lexa is thrust into a role she is not prepared for—will likely never be prepared for if Titus is right and she merely poses a threat to the cycle, to <em>heda</em>?</p><p>“You seem quieter, Lexa,” Anya says suddenly, breaking into Lexa’s thoughts. “Not that that is a bad thing.” Lexa looks at her mentor and she wonders is she can express her fears.</p><p>“The Commander has gone into battle,” Lexa finally says, deciding against confiding in Anya. But she underestimates how well her mentor knows her, because Anya raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Death is not the end, Lexa. When the Commander passes, the Spirit will move to you, and you will become Commander. The cycle will begin anew.”</p><p>“What if…” Lexa trails off, and then tries again. “Titus claims I am a threat. And Grenda called me weak.” Anya rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively.</p><p>“Titus considers a spring breeze a threat to <em>heda,</em>” she says, shaking her head and snorting as she always does when Titus is mentioned. “And Grenda is a fool. Do not put stock in what the generals think of you—many would have you fail.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you will be their <em>heda </em>one day, and they are arrogant enough to believe they know better than the Commander’s Spirit.” At Lexa’s confused look, Anya sighs and elaborates. “Power, Lexa. They want power.”</p><p>“Why do you think the Spirit chose me, Anya?” Her mentor sighs again, looking supremely annoyed by all the questions.</p><p>“I do not know, Lexa. There is something in you that others do not possess—something that sets you apart.” Lexa clenches her fists, looking away from Anya.</p><p>“So I am <em>different</em>,” she spits out, remembering Titus’s rhetorical question, finding that she hates the word, hates how it alienates her—hates how only one person has ever seemed to not care about her being different. Anya, however, smacks Lexa lightly on the head, forcing her to look up.</p><p>“You are special,” she says, her voice clear and sure. Lexa nods, and she knows Anya can tell she does not believe her.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Who makes decisions while <em>heda </em>is gone?” Costia asks between bites of food. Lexa has broken her arm (thanks to a particularly spirited opponent in training, a young man who was punished for being so reckless), and has afternoons free now that she is not expected to fight with only one arm (though Anya has warned her that this new freedom will only last a week, that a broken arm is not an indefinite excuse). It was by luck that she spotted Costia in the street as she aimlessly walked around, ignoring all the reluctant demonstrations of respect from the people of Polis (Lexa has come to realize that <em>no one</em>is quite fond of her).</p><p>“You promised no questions,” Lexa reminds her gently, and Costia nods, offering Lexa a sheepish grin in apology. She had forced the ‘future warrior’ to swear that she would ask no questions if they spent time together, but Costia is the sort of person Anya would describe as ‘having been hit one too many times on the head.’</p><p>It only took a minute for her to forget her promise.</p><p>“It is difficult not to be curious,” she says, grinning in a way that makes Lexa forgive her instantly. “Becoming <em>heda</em>is an honor.”</p><p>“Yes, an honor,” Lexa parrots back, looking down at her food. She wonders if Costia would think it an honor if she saw the dark look on the Commander’s face. She wonders if Costia would feel this way if she knew what becoming <em>heda</em>entails (if she had seen the anger on the generals’ faces, if she had seen the way Titus’s tight grip on her shoulder had left bruises).</p><p><em>They’re preparing to you die, Lexa</em>, Rox had told her, and it is only now that she begins to understand what he meant.</p><p>“I would not want to be <em>heda</em>, though,” Costia continues, and if it were not for the way she pointedly avoids eye contact, Lexa would have assumed she was oblivious to Lexa’s clear discomfort. “You are strong and brave, Lexa, far stronger and braver than any other warrior. And you will be a great Commander.” Lexa swallows, unsure how to respond to such blind conviction (Anya, Gustus, and the Commander <em>must</em>have confidence in her, but this girl—this ‘soon to be warrior’—is under no such obligation, yet she is absolutely sure anyway).</p><p><em>I have faith</em>, she said by the pond.</p><p>For the first time, Lexa realizes those were not just mere words.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>When the Commander returns victorious, the people of Polis celebrate.</p><p>In fact, it is not just the people of Polis. Men and women and children from many of the <em>Trigedakru </em>villages pour into the city, bringing food, drink, and games. The streets of Polis are crammed with laughter and joy, and as Lexa watches them from her window, she simultaneously wants to join them in celebration and force them to stop, wanting to ask if they know how many warriors the Commander lost while fighting this war (because Lexa knows—Lexa was there when the Commander first arrived, was there when her advisors and generals commented that the sixty-six fallen warriors would need to be honored).</p><p><em>Sixty-six</em>, she thinks, closing her eyes. Sixty-six fallen men and women like Anya, Costia, and Rox—sixty-six people who had friends and families.</p><p>When the door to her room opens, Lexa does not even bother to turn around. She knows Anya must be annoyed with her now—with her sulking, with her refusal to celebrate with the others—but she cannot bring herself to care.</p><p>“Ah, I see Anya was right. You <em>are </em>hiding up here like a child.” Lexa moves away from the window quickly and inclines her head.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>,” she says, not meeting the Commander’s eyes, even after she looks up again.</p><p>“Why do you refuse to celebrate, Lexa?” the Commander asks, moving over to sit at Lexa’s small desk, taking off her cumbersome shoulder guard and setting it on the ground. Only Anya has ever been in her room, and the Commander’s presence—especially when she is so casually attired—makes everything seems surreal. “This is a great victory.” Much like the first time they ever spoke, the Commander’s words do not match her tone or expressions—she sounds vaguely cheered and happy, but her grey eyes are downcast, and her lips are pulled down in a frown.</p><p>“Sixty-six died for this victory,” Lexa says softly, studying the Commander’s face closely, knowing that the comment will be taken as weakness. Surprisingly, however, the Commander smiles proudly at her.</p><p>“Anya says you keep asking why you were chosen,” she says, and Lexa curses Anya under her breath, feeling a little bit betrayed though she <em>knew</em>that everything she said was being reported back to the Commander. “This is why.”</p><p>“I do not understand.”</p><p>“You did not make the decision to go to war. You did not ask for those men and women to lay down their lives. Yet you have taken it upon yourself to carry their deaths on your shoulders.” Something in her eyes changes, and Lexa wonders if the Commander <em>regrets</em>finding her. “That is why you were chosen, Lexa. Because of your selfless sense of duty.”</p><p>“But that is not true, I am not selfless. I <em>want </em>to celebrate, too. I <em>want</em>to be out there, I want <em>so</em>much.” The Commander looks at her sadly, and Lexa has to turn away. She does not want pity—she wants the Commander to admit she is wrong.</p><p>“Then why are you sitting here, all alone?” the Commander asks, leaning forward, her elbows propped up on her knees. When Lexa opens and closes her mouth several times in quick succession, unable to formulate a response—to turn her thoughts into words—the Commander laughs lightly, her eyes alive for the first time since she walked into the room. “You were born for this, Lexa,” she says, the smile still on her face. “You just do not realize it yet.”</p><p>“Is that why you are not celebrating? Because of a selfless sense of duty?” She sighs and rubs her eyes, a vulnerable combination of gestures Lexa does not think she has ever seen the Commander make before.</p><p>“No, I do not celebrate because sixty-six men and women died because I asked them to lay down their lives.” Her hands drops and she studies Lexa for a moment, a small smile appearing on her face. “Would you like to see what I do instead?” She stands in one fluid motion, and she holds out a hand. “Come, Lexa. Let me show you the good things about being <em>heda</em>.” Lexa does not hesitate to take the Commander’s hand, following her out, leaving the shoulder guard on the ground behind them.</p><p>“How old were you, <em>heda</em>?” Lexa asks as they walk, knowing she does not need to elaborate. The Commander looks down at her with a wry smile.</p><p>“I was quite young,” she says. After a short pause, her smile becomes sad, and her grip on Lexa’s hand tightens slightly. “The Commander before me was a true warrior, and she led our people into many great battles. I was called to lead when I was only eleven.” At Lexa’s horrified look, the Commander lets out a booming laugh, and she lets go of her hand to ruffle her hair (which is not in the braids Anya taught her—the braids that mark her as different—because Lexa has learned there is great satisfaction in little rebellions). “Do not worry, child,” the Commander says, coming to a stop, and kneeling down so that they are eye-level. “I will not leave you alone for some time yet.”</p><p>“You cannot promise that,” Lexa tells her pointedly, remembering Anya’s words after she promised to be there for Tris: <em>It is selfish and foolish for you to believe you can be there for anyone. </em>All of the Commander’s hard edges soften at once, and for a moment—just a brief instant—Lexa sees her mother kneeling before her, whispering that it is all right, that it will be all right.</p><p>“No, I cannot. But I will try. Besides, even after I am gone, you will have Anya, Gustus, and Titus to help you.” Lexa studies her, and the words come tumbling out without her consent.</p><p>“Titus does not like me, he believes me a threat.” The Commander chuckles, and she takes one of Lexa’s hands in both her own, patting it gently.</p><p>“It is Titus’s duty to worry about me,” she says, shrugging a little—in this moment, she seems younger than she actually is, softer, gentler. “Do not worry about him. I have chosen you, that is all that matters.” She stands without allowing Lexa to respond and opens the door they have stopped in front of, leading her into a room filled with hundreds of books. “Were you taught to read, Lexa?” the Commander asks cheerfully, gesturing to the stacks of books with a smile, something about her lighter, more free, than Lexa’s ever seen.</p><p>“Reading is not necessary for survival,” Lexa says, parroting back what her father once told her. Even Gustus—who knows so much, who is so wise—only was able to teach her to read and write a few things—common phrases, and one specific term he told her to memorize and fear: <em>Mount Weather</em>.</p><p>“Ah, but it <em>is </em>necessary for <em>our </em>survival, Lexa,” the Commander tells her fervently. “In these books, you will find answers. You will discover new worlds, and you will not be so alone.”</p><p>“It is only words, <em>heda</em>. How can words make you less alone?” The Commander grins, and pokes Lexa in the middle of her forehead, the lighthearted action taking her by surprise.</p><p>“They will speak to you, Lexa, in a way no one else can,” she says brightly, but Lexa does not understand what she means. For whatever reason, this does not bother her at all—if anything, it seems to energize her further, so much so that the broken and sad Commander she saw in her room seems more like a dream than a memory. “This is the greatest gift I can give you,” she says, sounding breathless. “One day you will understand.”</p><p>(It is only much later, when she is in bed, clutching one of the books the Commander gave her to her chest, that Lexa wonders if the Commander had been holding back tears.)</p><p>(As she dozes off, Lexa pushes away the thought. The Commander is strong, brave, and selfless—why would she have been crying?)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>The children walk as if they fear an attack, and considering where they have come from, Lexa does not quite blame them. On her right, Costia pulls her jacket tighter around herself, and cranes her head, straining to see the procession.</p><p>“Why does the Commander house them?” she asks, and Anya rolls her eyes at the question. When Lexa asked if she could spend the day with Costia, her mentor had agreed reluctantly—now, it seems, she is regretting that decision.</p><p>“You ask too many questions, little girl. Your curiosity will land you in trouble.” The admonishment, though not even intended for Lexa, makes her ears redden and cheeks heat up, but Costia seems unaffected.</p><p>“I just want to know more,” she says without looking away from the warriors who lead the children into the Commander’s tower. They are orphans, left without a family following the battles between the Tree People and the Boat Clan, and as tradition dictates, they are taken in by the Commander—so that the one person who cannot have children (to eliminate distractions, the Commander explained to Lexa, but more importantly to avoid even the possibility of nepotism) is given the same honor and respect all others achieve when they bring life into the world.</p><p>“It is not for you to know,” Anya snaps, and she lightly taps Costia on the back of the head, but Costia is not chastised. If anything, she seems amused.</p><p>“I understand,” she says, but her eyes are screaming that she will ask Lexa hundreds of questions when they are alone. Lexa wonders if Costia merely enjoys asking the questions (because at this point, Lexa thinks, she should know better than to think Lexa will give in to her smile and ill-placed faith). “How long will they be staying?</p><p>“<em>Child</em>—” Anya begins, clearly out of patience, and Lexa steps between her mentor and her friend (because, yes, that is what Costia is; she is a <em>friend</em>).</p><p>“We can answer just <em>one </em>question, right Anya?” Lexa asks, holding up her hands. When her mentor just narrows her eyes and huffs, Lexa grins victoriously and turns to Costia. “The children stay until they are given a proper home or they become seconds. None stay past the age of twelve.” Costia considers this answer for a moment, biting her bottom lip, and then she shakes her head.</p><p>“No, I do not want this to be the one question you answer.” Anya lets out a growl, but Lexa knows she is not actually mad; if she were, Costia would bear the scars.</p><p>“Let this be a lesson then. On patience. And <em>silence</em>.” Anya looks down at them, and rolls her eyes. “Go. Do whatever it is you two do.” They do not need to be told twice; before Anya’s even done rolling her eyes, Lexa and Costia rush off, heading straight to the gardens behind the Commander’s tower and home (Lexa never considers it <em>her</em>home, because she is a guest for now. One day, the Commander likes to remind her, all of this will be hers, and Lexa wishes to postpone that moment for as long as she possibly can—even if it is only in her mind).   </p><p>“I know it makes you upset when I ask so many questions,” Costia says when they skid to a halt by the flowers that the Commander herself painstakingly tends to (when she was away, Lexa took on the responsibility, somehow knowing that it was a test—a test she passed effortlessly). “I promise to try and stop.”</p><p>“No.” The one word takes them both by surprise, and Lexa has to take a deep breath before she elaborates. “I like the questions, even if I cannot answer them for you. It means you care.” Costia’s answering grin makes Lexa feel the same way the Commander’s soft assurances and her mother’s arms made her feel—warm, safe, content.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“What is the nature of your relationship with that girl? The one who is to be a warrior?” Anya asks as they train. Fighting against Anya is always terrifying—mostly because she is not afraid to hurt Lexa—but today there is a glint in her eye that Lexa does not understand.</p><p>“Costia? She is a friend.”</p><p>“You have no time for friends,” Anya says, her blows becoming more and more savage. Lexa wonders if she believes that she will make her point more effectively by using more violence (Lexa quickly realizes that Anya is right—her point comes across loud and clear).</p><p>“I have made time for Costia,” Lexa argues, parrying a particularly violent blow with difficulty, her entire arm ringing with the force of it. Anya continues to advance, not giving Lexa time to breathe, a moment to rest.</p><p>“You have lessons and training. When do you have time to be a <em>friend</em>?” Anya hisses out the last word, making it sound dirty and silly, and Lexa blushes, unable to help it. She has not been treated like a child since she arrived in Polis, she is not used to it.</p><p>“My free time is my own, <em>heda </em>has said so.” Anya huffs, and her offensive movements cease without warning, making Lexa lose her footing momentarily. The second’s worth of time is all Anya needs—she sweeps Lexa’s legs out from under her, and she falls to the ground with a thud, back aching.</p><p>“She has also offered to teach you to read, has ordered Titus to stay away from you, has decided she will observe your training once a week.” Anya sounds suspicious, sounds angry, from where she stands. “<em>Heda </em>does much for you.”</p><p> “Do you think <em>heda </em>does not love, Anya?” Lexa asks, unable to help herself. The look on Anya’s face is inscrutable—it is the first time this talent (which Anya taught her) is used against her.</p><p>“I think the Commander cares for you, Lexa,” she says, answering the question Lexa wanted answered, not the one she asked. “You have been chosen by the Spirit, and it is her duty to protect and train you until the Spirit moves onto you.” She pauses, and there is that glint in her eyes again, the glint that Lexa does not understand (the one she sees when Titus looks at her, the one she notices when Gustus thinks she is not paying attention, the one she has seen shine in <em>heda’s</em>eyes as well). “But <em>heda</em>was called to lead at the age of eleven, and any of the love she was once capable of has long since washed away.”</p><p>Lexa thinks of the books the Commander showed her, of the earnest way she told her that she would not leave her alone for some time yet, and with burning eyes and a breaking heart, Lexa nods her understanding.</p><p>“Good,” Anya says brusquely. “Let’s end training early today—it is far too cold anyway.” Lexa just nods again, because even words would not be enough to fill the void.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Ten</strong>
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</p><p>Lexa likes her laugh.</p><p>It is not something she realizes consciously, not really. Instead, it is more of a feeling—a deep-rooted desire to elicit as much laughter as she possibly can, a sort of desperation and need to hear the ringing sound.</p><p>(Sometimes, Lexa catches herself staring, counting the freckles across her nose, watching the bounce of her dark curls, the way the smile comes to her so easily.)</p><p>(Sometimes, Lexa finds that she has to forcibly push away the rush of envy and the beginnings of anger when Costia speaks so optimistically about the future—a future that is merely dark and terrifying to Lexa.)</p><p>But Lexa likes her laugh, likes it enough that she is willing to put aside everything else, willing to give up the little free time she has for the girl, willing to bear the brunt of Titus’s cool looks of disapproval and Anya’s pursed lips and worried glances. Lexa likes Costia’s laugh, and that is enough for her to think of nothing else.</p><p>And so it never crosses her mind that this is not something she should be doing.</p><p>Costia’s hand grips hers tightly as they run, cutting through alleys and ducking behind vendors’ stalls every so often to ensure they are not being followed. They had slipped past Lexa’s guards easily; Anya’s ever-watchful eyes were the reason for the sneaking.</p><p>“Hurry, Lexa!” Costia says, tugging on Lexa’s arm, impatience and excitement lacing her tone.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Lexa asks for the umpteenth time, but judging from Costia’s enormous grin, she knows she has been unsuccessful in hiding her own excitement—in remaining detached and aloof as Anya has been teaching her.</p><p>“You are the <em>heda</em>to be, Lexa, but you do not know your own city.” Costia comes to an abrupt halt, and Lexa nearly rams into her back. “I want to show you want the Commander cannot.” Lexa’s eyes narrow of their own accord, automatically suspicious of any claims that there is something in Polis that the <em>Commander</em>is unaware of, but Costia’s grin remains in place as they stand there, hidden behind a woman’s food cart, and Lexa softens (this is her friend, and she does not think that Costia would lie).</p><p>“How would you know what the Commander knows?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. Costia rolls her eyes playfully, but there is something on her face that Lexa does not recognize, something that makes her jokes and playfulness seem feigned.</p><p>“Lexa, do you trust me?” Lexa purses her lips, unable to look away from Costia’s dark eyes. She has known her for a year—has trained with her, has shared meals with her—and after Anya, Gustus, and the Commander herself, there is no one that Lexa likes more than Costia. But trust is tricky; she has been warned against trust. (“It is dangerous and must be given cautiously. You must hoard it, Lexa. It is the most valuable thing you possess,” Gustus has said. Anya is always more succinct: “It will get you killed.”)</p><p>There are exactly four people she trusts unequivocally. She wonders if Costia can be the fifth.</p><p>She opens her mouth and then closes it again, the words unable to come. But rather than look disappointed or angry (as Lexa assumed she would) Costia just seems more determined. “I know what Anya and Gustus teach you, Lexa,” she says, stepping closer, their noses barely an inch apart. “I think they are wrong, and I will spend my entire life proving that to you.” Lexa does not back away though she desperately wants to—she is not used to being challenged, she is not used to having people question her this way—and instead fixes Costia with her blankest look (the one Anya taught her, but she has made all her own).</p><p>“Do what you will,” she says, and for the first time, she sees a flash of hurt on Costia’s face.</p><p>“Please don’t do that,” she says, blinking rapidly and stepping back. “Not with me.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Lexa asks, somehow no longer able to meet Costia’s eyes. She stares instead at the food cart, focusing on the selection of dried meats and fruits. Costia moves so that she is once again in Lexa’s line of sight.</p><p>“I have seen you do this with the seconds you train with, and the Commander’s generals and advisors. You hide.” Costia reaches out and takes Lexa’s hand, but the action surprises her and she snatches it away, causing Costia’s brows to furrow in confusion and hurt. “I understand,” she says softly, turning her face away. Lexa wants to ask her what she understands, wants her to explain it because <em>she</em>does not understand, but though her mouth opens and closes several times in quick succession, no words come out. Costia takes a deep breath and turns back to face her, a smile fixed on her face that does not match her dull eyes. “Come. I wanted to show you something incredible.”</p><p>“What is it?” Lexa asks, refusing to budge. Costia however, widens her fake smile and purposefully misunderstands Lexa’s question (she can tell it is on purpose because Costia is her friend, she has known her for a year—trained with her, shared meals with her—and after the Commander, Anya, and Gustus, there is no one Lexa likes more. She just does not know how to tell <em>Costia</em>that).</p><p>“It would ruin the surprise if I told you!” Costia says, motioning for Lexa to follow her (the fact that she does not just grab Lexa by the arm and drag her away is not lost on her, and Lexa wonders if she somehow broke something she did not know could be damaged).</p><p>They walk down the street in silence, and for the first time, Lexa finds herself feeling a vague sense of guilt. She wants to say something, wants to somehow fill the chasm that has sprung between them, but she is at a loss. Anya has taught her to fight; Gustus has taught her to strategize; the Commander has taught her to lead.</p><p>Only now does she wish they had taught her to be a friend.</p><p>Costia is oblivious to Lexa’s troubles—she is continually looking behind them (still making sure they are not being followed), and her eyes have taken on an excited gleam that makes Lexa slightly nervous. “Not much further now,” Costia mumbles, and she reaches out and grabs Lexa’s wrist, almost subconsciously. Normally, the action would have gone unnoticed by both of them (Costia is always reaching for her hand and Lexa is used to it by now), but this time it brings them both up short. “I’m sorry,” Costia says, beginning to pull away. Lexa shakes her head and does not let her.</p><p>“Don’t be sorry.” For a moment, she is both worried that Costia will see this as some large gesture of trust (which it is <em>not</em>) and nervous that Costia will not understand that it is significant nonetheless (because this is as close as she can get to being a friend—this is all she has learned in the year she has known Costia). But Costia smiles, soft and sad, and Lexa wonders if she has underestimated her friend.</p><p>“Up here,” Costia says, pointing to her right. Lexa looks over and sees that they have come to a stop in front of an old, decrepit building (most likely one of those left over from the <em>Dark Days</em>. Gustus, whose grandmother had survived the bombs and told him stories growing up, claimed that Polis once was a much larger city, sprawling and immense, easy to get lost in. “There is much from the old world hidden in Polis,” he told Lexa once. And here was the proof). Over the sounds of the market and street vendors, Lexa can hear something else…</p><p>“What is that?” she asks, and for the first time, Costia looks vaguely uncomfortable.</p><p>“Music,” she answers, shrugging when Lexa’s eyes widen.</p><p>“It is <em>forbidden</em>!” Only a select few are allowed the luxury of learning to play music, and they only played on special occasions—in fact, Lexa herself has never even seen an instrument. But music—any art—is strictly forbidden to all others: it is not necessary for survival, and thus, it is a waste of time (as Gustus and Anya have explained: Music cannot grow food, painting cannot protect the villages, writing cannot bring peace).</p><p>“I know it is. But Lexa—” She does not wait to hear anymore. Lexa pushes past Costia and rushes into the building, pulling out her red sash (which she had stuffed in her pocket when she and Costia snuck out) and ties it around her waist.</p><p>She is the <em>heda-</em>to-be. She must uphold the Commander’s laws.</p><p>She follows the sound of the music, heading down the rickety stairs two at a time, ignoring Costia’s panicked protests from behind her. The basement is sturdy, however, quite unlike the building above it, and Lexa can understand why they would hold illicit meetings down here. The market is loud and drowns them out, and the basement is cool, sheltered, and out of the way—a place no one would think to look. When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, Lexa comes to a halt, and Costia rams into her back.</p><p>“Lexa—” she hisses, but Lexa raises a hand and she immediately falls silent. It is unusual, having Costia listen to her so readily, but she does not question it. Instead, she walks further into the basement, looking around her in awe.</p><p>It is not just music that they hide. Paintings, books, papers, crude pottery and carved wooden figures litter the basement, and—completely oblivious to Lexa and Costia’s presence—there are half a dozen young men and women, working studiously in the far corner. One—the source of the music Lexa heard from the street—plucks at the strings of a strange instrument, before shifting and running a piece of wood (with what looks like hair attached to it) over the strings, eliciting a sound the likes of which she has never heard.</p><p>“It is called a ‘violin,’” Costia whispers in her ear, pointing at the girl with short dark hair, who is playing the instrument. “Before the bombs, there used to be large groups of people who played them.”</p><p>“How do you know this?” Lexa demands, disbelief tinting her tone. Costia points to the books and papers that line the shelves by the wall (it is not nearly as impressive as the Commander’s <em>library</em>, as she called it, yet is it impressive nonetheless).</p><p>“Eve says that this place used to be a ‘music shop.’ Where people could buy instruments. But only that violin and Ric’s flute survived.” At the sound of their names, the girl with the <em>violin</em>stops playing and gives Costia a warm smile, and a frail-looking boy—who had been fiddling with a piece of wood—drops his carving knife and laughs.</p><p>“Costia!” he cries, jumping up. It is only then that they notice Lexa. Their eyes flit between Costia and the red sash at Lexa’s waist, and Eve’s face darkens.</p><p>“Why did you bring <em>her</em>here?” she demands, reverently putting the violin down and approaching Costia and Lexa. Ric does not move, and the others—who have hastily put away their books and art—do not either.</p><p>“There is nothing wrong with Lexa,” Costia says hotly, and Lexa’s fists clench on their own accord at the disbelief obvious in Eve’s blue eyes. “She will not say anything.” Lexa nearly laughs; did Costia not know her at all?</p><p>“She is the Commander’s <em>lap dog</em>,” Eve hisses, stepping forward, clearly finding Costia’s comment just as unbelievable as Lexa (though for entirely different reasons). Lexa’s hand goes to the knife tucked away at her waist automatically, adopting a defensive stance. She is smaller than Eve and Ric (and the others who continue to sit and watch) but she is quite sure she could best them in a fight.</p><p>She can best Anya every so often—compared to her, these <em>artists</em>are nothing.</p><p>“You said that the Commander does not understand why we still need art and science and music. Well, here is our chance to <em>make</em>her understand. Lexa will help us!” Lexa snorts, the sound unkind and derisive—certainly not anything she would have ever imagined she would use against Costia.</p><p>“I will do no such thing. The Commander enforces these laws for a reason. <em>This,</em>” Lexa gestures to the room, shaking her head, “is not necessary for survival.” Surprisingly, rather than attack, Eve laughs and rolls her eyes, her shoulders relaxing as she takes several steps back, clearly surrendering.</p><p>“Tell me, Lexa. What does the Commander do when she is not off killing people?” Lexa feels a rush of anger take hold of her, but Costia slips her hand into hers and grasps tightly—as if she can feel the anger rolling off Lexa in waves and is attempting to somehow quell it with her coolness.</p><p>“The Commander fights in order to protect her people,” Lexa spits, glaring at Eve, caught off-guard by the girl’s casual disavowal of the Commander. She did not realize there was unrest, that there existed people who <em>disagreed</em>with the Commander. Did they not realize they owed their safety, their <em>lives</em>, to the Commander? That she was the only reason they could safely hole up in this basement and play their illegal <em>music </em>and make their illegal <em>art</em>? </p><p>“I told you she was the Commander’s lap dog,” Eve says with a smirk, and for the first time, Lexa <em>hates</em>someone.</p><p>“You speak freely down here, hiding like a coward. But what have <em>you </em>done for your people? How have you protected them, kept them alive?”</p><p>“Music, art, science—these things are important, even if your Commander has told you they are not. We <em>need</em>them in order to grow as a people.” Lexa laughs, the sound cold and harsh, and even Eve looks surprised. Costia lets go of Lexa’s hand.</p><p>“Music, art, and science will do no one any good if we are all <em>dead</em>.”</p><p>“Lexa,” Costia begins softly, stepping forward so that she stands between Eve and Lexa—a sort of shield or guard. “Just hold the violin. Play something. You will understand what she means.”</p><p>“Why are you doing this, Costia? You want to be a warrior, you know how important our ways are.” Lexa stares at her as she swallows and looks away, a lachrymose expression forming on her face.</p><p>“Why do our ways have to only involve war?” she asks, rubbing her eyes and looking back up to stare at Lexa defiantly. She suddenly thinks of the books in the Commander’s library, how it was ‘the greatest gift’ she could give. It occurs to Lexa that the rules have never applied to her like they do to Eve, Costia, and the frail-looking boy, Ric.</p><p>Lexa does not answer her friend. She backs away slowly, and once she reaches the rickety stairs, she flees.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Lexa’s foot taps against the ground incessantly, her fingers playing with the corner of the page, idly folding and unfolding the flimsy paper. The book in her lap is heavy, tedious, and far too difficult for her—she suspects the Commander knew <em>exactly </em>what she was doing when she shoved this book into Lexa’s arms when she arrived for their daily lesson.</p><p>It is a punishment—it is a declaration that she <em>knows.</em></p><p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p><p>“Our hour is not yet up, Lexa,” she interrupts, not looking up from her book. She is sitting in a high-backed chair, her legs kicked up on the table, the book in her lap looking far more interesting than Lexa’s. After a minute, Lexa tries again.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>—” The Commander stops her this time by slamming her book shut and looking up.</p><p>“How many pages did you read?” Lexa swallows, shrinking under the Commander’s gaze.</p><p>“Ten.<em>Two,” </em>she corrects when all she gets is a disbelieving look. “I wish to apologize.”</p><p>“For what?” the Commander asks, shifting so that her feet no longer rest on the table. Instead, she sits on the literal edge of her seat, leaning forward with her elbows propped on her knees, as if she is greatly invested in the conversation. “For interrupting our reading time?” Lexa nods.</p><p>“Yes. But also for something else.”</p><p>“For something else? What else have you done, Lexa?” the Commander asks, her eyes wide with curiosity. Lexa knows she is merely playing at obliviousness, knows that she is making light of the situation, yet tears spring to her eyes anyway at the thought that she may have disappointed the Commander (that this act, like all her acts, is hiding the fact that she is hurt, upset, and Lexa hates the idea that she could have been the source of such pain for the Commander).</p><p>“During my free time a few days ago I snuck out and explored Polis with Costia.” She leaves out Ric and Eve and their music shop because she has yet to form an opinion on them. On one hand, she <em>hates </em>Eve, hates the way she spoke of the Commander—hates the disrespect she heard in Eve’s tone. On the other hand, Lexa could not fault them completely. It was true, they were hurting no one, and Lexa had never heard a sound as beautiful as the one Eve elicited from the violin. She stares at the Commander, waiting to see disappointment at the lie, waiting to see some sort of reaction, but nothing comes. The Commander merely stares back, her grey eyes blank.</p><p>“I see,” she finally mutters. “How was this trip?”</p><p>“I fought with Costia,” Lexa answers honestly. Again, there is no reaction from the Commander; her expression remains clear.</p><p>“What did you fight about?” she asks, the tiniest tinge of curiosity in her tone. Lexa puts her book aside and sits a little straighter, sensing she is delving into dangerous territory (after all, she has lost count of the number of times she has seen the Commander hide how she felt, only to violently lash out at a later point—as it often happened during meetings with her advisors and generals).</p><p>“She claims I am closed off to her.”</p><p>“And do you agree?”</p><p>“Yes. But Anya told me to be closed off. That I have no time for friends. It isn’t wrong, is it, <em>heda?</em>” The Commander eyes her oddly for a moment and then sighs.</p><p>“Anya expressed her worries about the girl to me as well. I argued that you are smart, that you know where your duty lies. Do you, Lexa?”</p><p>“Yes,<em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“Good. I see no problem with you training with the girl or spending time with her here, in the tower, where you are safe.” Lexa nods quickly, but the Commander is not finished. “However, should you ever sneak off again, Lexa, there will be dire consequences. You have no time for distractions—do not allow your friend to turn into one.”  Her voice is cold by the end of her sentence, and Lexa knows this is more than a warning, it is a promise. She swallows, unable to look the Commander in the eye.</p><p>“Yes,<em>heda</em>,” she says, surprised when the Commander leans forward and gently raises Lexa’s chin with two fingers.</p><p>“I am not hard on you to hurt you,” she says, emotion flickering in her eyes for the first time, but it is something Lexa is not quite sure she understands. “I am hard on you because all of my hopes rest on your shoulders, and you must be strong enough to carry it.”</p><p>“I understand.” The Commander laughs, and she pats Lexa’s cheek softly, shaking her head. This time, Lexa <em>does </em>understand the emotion in her eyes—it is something she sees in Anya and Gustus’s eyes all the time, something she has seen with Costia as well: pity.</p><p>“Oh no, my dear child. I don’t think you do.” She pats Lexa’s cheek again, this time smiling slightly—a smile that does not quite reach her grey eyes. “But you are the rain after a drought, Lexa.” She does not elaborate, and they both go back to reading without another word.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>It is an entire week before she sees Costia again.</p><p>Lexa has been sparring with a boy twice her size for nearly two hours, and her arm feels like lead. She can barely lift, let alone swing, a sword. Anya grunts, giving Lexa an approving smack to the back of the head just as she knocks the boy off his feet due to a well-timed kick, when Costia walks up to them, looking rather nervous as she interrupts them. Anya rolls her eyes.</p><p>“If I had it my way, she would be sent off to Indra’s village.” Lexa laughs, and for whatever reason, Anya looks away. “You’re to meet with the Commander in an hour. Don’t forget.”</p><p>“Yes, Anya.” Her mentor rolls her eyes again, but she walks off, dragging the boy with her, loudly telling him that he was going far too easy on Lexa. Costia shuffles forward, not at all her usual cheerful self, and Lexa is instantly worried.</p><p>“Costia—”</p><p>“I’m<em>sorry</em>, Lexa,” she interrupts, wringing her hands, her dark eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I should not have taken you to Eve. It was a mistake.” Lexa stares at her friend for a moment, not understanding the apology.</p><p>“Why? Because you’re worried I will tell <em>heda </em>about them? Or because you know what they are doing is wrong?” Costia hardens all at once, and she shakes her head.</p><p>“You’re being unfair. And if you bothered to think for yourself, you would see that.” Lexa steps forward, her weariness all but forgotten.</p><p>“I think for myself, and I agree with the Commander.”</p><p>“No, you just blindly follow what she says.” Costia no longer looks nervous, she looks <em>angry</em>, and Lexa cannot imagine why. “Ric is frail, Lexa. His family cast him out because he was weak. <em>Music </em>saved his life. Eve saved his life.”</p><p>“A life that contributes nothing to our people. He may as well have died.” Costia frowns, taking a step back.</p><p>“You don’t mean that,” she says, shaking her head and looking at Lexa like she never quite saw her clearly before. When Lexa does not respond, her mouth falls open. “Lexa…it brings hope. We all need hope to survive.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Why are you being like this?” Lexa raises her chin, and fixes Costia with her blankest look (the one Anya taught her, the one she made all her own).</p><p>“I have a duty to my people,” she says, thinking of the Commander’s warning—her promise. “I refuse to be distracted by silly things like music and art.” Costia shakes her head and reaches out to grab her arm, gripping onto it so tightly, Lexa is rather sure it will leave a bruise.</p><p>“Come with me. Please. Just trust me. Let me show you that it is not a distraction.” Lexa thinks of the Commander’s warning, of the disapproval and disappointment she hid from her, and is close to shaking her head. After the Commander, Anya, and Gustus, there is no one in the world Lexa likes more than Costia. But that is only <em>after </em>the Commander, Anya, and Gustus. “Please,” Costia repeats, her voice strained, her eyes pleading, and Lexa finds herself easily swayed. She nods, feeling a strange swooping in her belly when Costia immediately envelopes her in a tight hug.</p><p>“We only have an hour, Costia,” she warns, pushing her friend away, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Costia grins.</p><p>“I only need half that to convince you.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>The trip back to the music shop is much like the first time. They run, looking behind them every few second, laughing and giggling as they go. Costia holds onto her hand, and the touch is familiar, warm, comforting, and Lexa wonders if she is becoming far too accustomed to Costia’s presence. Lexa wonders if she has not been as closed off as she imagined. She stares at Costia from behind, stares at the girl’s dark curls bouncing up and down as they run, stares at their interlocking fingers.</p><p>She stops wondering; in only a year, Costia has managed to seep deep into her skin, and Lexa finds she does not quite mind. They are friends, and Lexa <em>trusts </em>her (there were four people she trusted unequivocally, and now, there are five).</p><p>They head down the rickety stairs together, and just like last time, they are met with the beautiful sound of the violin. Eve is alone, and when she hears them, she puts the violin down, her hand immediately going to a knife hidden at her waist.</p><p>“The Commander’s lap dog is back, I see,” she says, raising one eyebrow. “No one is willing to come back since you found us, you know. They all think the Commander knows about this place and will kill us all for breaking her laws.” Costia steps forward.</p><p>“Lexa would never do that. She knows we have done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t judge her when you don’t even know her.” Eve stares at Costia for a moment, then turns to look at Lexa, a smile appearing on her face.</p><p>“Costia, go stand guard.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Go. Don’t you want me to convince the <em>heda</em>-to-be that music is good?” Costia nods stiffly and turns to leave, squeezing Lexa’s hands gently as she passes by. Eve watches her go, and when she and Lexa are alone, she sighs and throws herself onto a chair. She opens her mouth, but Lexa cuts her off before she can get a word out.</p><p>“Why didn’t you attack that day? You had a knife. I was clearly outnumbered. And I was a threat. Why just let me go?” Eve laughs.</p><p>“Because<em>you</em>didn’t attack. You were all defense, <em>heda</em>-to-be.” She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and Lexa finds she much prefers this Eve to the one who insulted the Commander. “I knew you would be willing to at least listen—it is much more than I can say for your <em>heda </em>or the other <em>Natblidas</em>.” Lexa frowns at the comment, but focuses on the part she understands.</p><p>“She is your <em>heda</em>, too.”</p><p>“She is my oppressor. She tells me that what I love is waste of time. She <em>kills</em>those of us who dare disagree. She is not my <em>heda</em>—she is my enemy.”</p><p>“You don’t know her,” Lexa argues, angry once more, remembering why she <em>hates</em>Eve.</p><p>“No, I don’t, and I have no desire to. I only wish to play music in peace.”</p><p>“Our Commander’s laws must be upheld.” Eve stares at her oddly, and then nods.</p><p>“You will tell her, won’t you? About this place?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Lexa thinks of Costia, how <em>sure </em>she was that she could convince her. Lexa thinks of how angry her friend would be if she told the Commander about the music shop. Eve gets up with a sigh, and picks up the violin, her fingers running along the wood with reverence and love.</p><p>“Then this will be my only chance to convince you, I suppose. Come here, <em>heda-</em>to-be, let me show you why I love this instrument.” She holds out the violin, and Lexa takes it with trembling hands. Eve positions the instrument on her left shoulder, pressing her chin down into the wood, and then hands her the stick with the hair. “Just run the hair across the string,” she instructs, and Lexa does so. The sound is high pitched and scratchy, but Eve is laughing and Lexa cannot help but join in. “It took me months before I could make a clear sound,” Eve says, taking back the violin. She demonstrates with an exaggerated flourish, and the sound that fills the basement makes Lexa’s heart sing.</p><p>“It is beautiful.”</p><p>“Yes, it is,” Eve mutters, her face falling. “Promise me, Lexa. Promise me that when you are <em>heda</em>you will change things. I know you will tell the Commander about this place, but I will forgive you for it if you just promise me now you will not let music die.” </p><p>“The Commander’s laws must be upheld,” Lexa says, wishing more than anything she could give Eve the promise. “But I won’t tell her about this place.” Eve snorts, shaking her head.</p><p>“You are the Commander’s lap dog. I don’t believe a word you say.” She gestures violently towards the stairs, and Lexa realizes she is being dismissed. She is halfway up the stairs when Eve speaks up once more. “Have you ever had something you love taken away, lap dog?” Lexa thinks of her mother, of the way she held her when she was scared or upset. She thinks of her father and his kindness, his softness. She thinks of Rox and his fierce desire to protect her.</p><p>“No<em>,</em>” she lies. Eve’s mirthless laughter is the last thing she hears before the stairs collapse under her prolonged weight, sending her crashing to the ground.</p><p>Her head slams against the hard floor, and the world goes black.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>When she wakes up, her entire body aches. Her arm is wrapped with bandages, and her head is sore, but mostly she just feels stupid. She sits up slowly, unsure of where she is. The confusion only lasts for a second, because Anya’s voice breaks into her thoughts, and she realizes she is in her room, in her own bed.</p><p>“So you’re alive. I suppose the Commander will be relieved. She had nearly half a dozen healers in here earlier to make sure nothing happened to you.” Lexa looks at Anya, unsure how she should take her mentor’s dispassionate tone.</p><p>“Anya—” she begins helplessly, but it is as if the single word is enough to break the dam, because Anya throws her hands up in the air.</p><p>“What you did was <em>foolish</em>, Lexa! You were told not to go anywhere. You were told to not wander around Polis with that girl. But you <em>disobeyed</em>.” Lexa has never seen Anya quite so angry, has never seen her pace the way she is pacing now—moving from one side of the room to the other at a furious rate, continuing to gesture wildly with her hands.</p><p>“Anya—”</p><p>“Silence! Even worse is that no one knows where you went. You were dragged back here, bloody and bruised and <em>unconscious</em>, and the only thing the girl would say was that you’d fallen.” Anya shakes her head, pausing briefly to fix Lexa with a glare. “Where did you <em>go</em>?”</p><p>“We went to the market. We just walked around.”</p><p>“Why do you insist on lying to me?”</p><p>“I am not lying!”</p><p>“Who are you protecting, Lexa? Is it the girl?”</p><p>“The girl has a name!” Lexa fires back, getting to her feet, groaning and placing a hand on her head. “She has a name, Anya.” There is a look of shock on Anya’s face for only a moment before she recovers, advancing towards Lexa with a furious expression.</p><p>“You would defend her?” she asks, her voice dangerously soft. “You would defend her even though she put your life in danger?”</p><p>“It was an <em>accident</em>. And I’m fine.”</p><p>“Lexa—” She does not get to know what Anya wanted to say because her bedroom door flies open, and the Commander sweeps in, dressed in full battle gear, seemingly unbothered by the weight of the shoulder guard, her red sash flowing behind her impressively, the war paint on her face making her look fearsome.</p><p>“<em>Enough</em>.” The single word sends shivers down Lexa’s back. She has seen the Commander angry plenty of times. She just has never seen the Commander’s ire directed towards her in such a way. “Perhaps Titus was right after all.” Lexa’s heart races, because she is not quite sure she understands what the Commander means, yet at the same time, she is rather sure she <em>does</em>, and that terrifies her. (She is a mistake, a mistake, a <em>mistake.</em>) Gone is the Commander who did not want to hurt her, the one who smiled and laughed with her, the one who spent hours teaching her how to read.</p><p>Instead, Lexa feels she is faced with a formidable foe—faced with the terrifying oppressor that Eve spoke of—and for the first time, she wonders if she had a point.</p><p>“From this moment on, Lexa, you go <em>nowhere </em>without supervision. You will dedicate every minute of every day to your training and books. Do you understand me?” Lexa nods quickly, trying to hide the shaking of her hands, trying to hide her pain (she does not think anyone, least of all the Commander, will be sympathetic to her pain at the moment). “And remember this: the only reason your <em>friend</em>,” she hisses out the word, “has been spared is because she risked her life to bring you back to me. But I do not forgive twice, Lexa.”</p><p>“Yes,<em>heda</em>.” The Commander ignores her soft words and turns her hardened gaze to Anya.</p><p>“When she was entrusted to you, you swore you could handle the task. You swore you would not make the same mistakes as your mentor, and I even gave him a second chance. But this, Anya, this is a grave error.” Anya stands straight, still, and calm. Lexa does not understand how she does not collapse beneath the weight of the Commander’s glare. </p><p>“I am sorry, <em>heda</em>. It will not happen again.” The Commander shakes her head, looking regal, proud, and <em>dark</em>.</p><p>“No, it will not.” Lexa takes several steps back at the tone, at the way the Commander spits the words out. “Remember this, Anya. Should something happen to Lexa, it will be on <em>your</em>head.” She does not spare either of them another glance—she sweeps out the same way she came, and Lexa can do nothing but stand there and tremble. Anya’s shuddering breath is what finally breaks her out of her daze.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Anya,” she begins, desperately apologetic. Something on Anya’s face changes, and Lexa is sure she will face the brunt of her mentor’s anger. But she watches in surprise as Anya steps closer, kneeling down and shaking her head.</p><p>“The fault is mine. The Commander is right—I have treated you as a child, when you are the <em>heda</em>-to-be. It was my error.” She looks depressed by the fact, and Lexa cannot imagine why (she is too grateful that at least Anya does not hate her—that at least Anya’s eyes are not filled with disappointment and anger). When Anya pulls her into an embrace, however, Lexa tenses, waiting for the blow that is sure to come—waiting to hear what has made Anya so depressed. “Things will change from here on out, Lexa,” Anya says softly, allowing Lexa to bury her head into her shoulder, not even mentioning the tears Lexa is sure she feels dripping onto her neck. “She gave you ten years. That is more than anyone gave her.” Lexa grips tighter to her mentor.</p><p>“I have never seen her like that,” she says, her voice no more than a whisper, as if she could hide the weakness she feels in her bones and chest by speaking softly. Anya rocks her side to side for a moment before she answers.</p><p>“You are the rain after a drought, Lexa. And <em>heda</em>thought she lost you.”  </p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She knew he would come, and so when the door opens as Anya sleeps soundly in the chair next to her bed (heavily slouched, with her arms crossed over her chest), she is not surprised.</p><p>The shuffle of his robes as he steps forward sounds loud in the silence, the glint of his eyes seems much more dangerous than usual as light bleeds into the room from the door he leaves open behind him. He spares Anya only a cursory glance, pursing his lips as if physically quelling a comment, and then he focuses on Lexa. He towers over her, eyes flickering from the bandage around her head to the one around her arm, and he lets out a tiny sigh.</p><p>“I hear you had a nasty fall,” he says, distaste coloring his words, his voice barely above a whisper. She does not respond, and Titus shifts closer, until he stands at the very edge of her bed, and then kneels down until they are eye-level. “I must admit, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>, I wished you would not wake.”</p><p>“Because I’m a threat?”</p><p>“My issue is that no one else sees you as a threat,” he answers back quickly, raising an eyebrow. “The Commander has much faith in you. She has so much faith in you that she refuses to listen to my advice, refuses to admit that this was a sign—that you are not the <em>Natblida </em>who will take her place.”</p><p>“<em>Heda </em>says the Spirit chose me.”</p><p>“And the Spirit is never wrong.” Confusion must show on her face because Titus lets out a small laugh. “But it is not <em>heda </em>who determines the Spirit’s choice, it is the Conclave.”</p><p>“<em>Heda </em>says the Conclave will only prove what she already knows to be true.”</p><p>“And what do you think, Lexa? Do you think you’ll get through the Conclave?”</p><p>“I have faith in the Commander.”</p><p>“And in yourself? Do you have faith in yourself as well?” She remains silent, but that must be enough of an answer for him, because he rises to his feet in one fluid motion, staring down at her once more. “I have been the Flamekeeper for twenty-nine summers, Lexa,” he says, frowning at her. “I was chosen at seven, and I served two Commanders before <em>heda</em>. And do you know what the two of them had in common?” Lexa does not answer, merely raises her chin, trying to remain aloof and unafraid, even as she lies in bed—injured and vulnerable. “Their reigns were short and bloody,” he continues, his lips twisting into the beginnings of something that looks like a cross between a frown and a smile. “<em>Heda </em>is different. She has managed to maintain peace within our Clan, has ruled for twelve summers, is feared by our enemies.” He leans down, ensuring their eyes are locked. “I did not want you to wake because you will disrupt the Cycle and you will bring ruin on us all.” His eyes narrow, and she knows he is waiting for a reaction, waiting for her to get angry or sad—to show <em>something </em>and give him the upper hand.</p><p>But Anya has taught her to fight, Gustus has taught her to strategize, the Commander has taught her to lead, and Lexa keeps her face utterly blank.</p><p>Titus laughs, the sound giving Lexa chills, making her swallow hard as she stares at him impassively, somehow maintaining her cool expression. “You might be smart,” he says finally, “but that does not make you worthy of the Spirit.” He stares at her for a moment longer, and then turns on his heel and disappears out into the hallway. When she is sure he has gone, Lexa lets out a long sigh, closing her eyes and trying to calm her racing heart.</p><p>“Don’t put stock in his words,” Anya’s voice rings out in the darkness. Lexa’s eyes open and she turns to her mentor, who still sits slouched in the chair next to her bed, eyes still closed, arms still crossed over her chest. “I would be more worried if he liked you.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“I am not the only one, am I?” Lexa asks, interrupting Gustus’s lesson. He raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Of course not. It would be foolish to place all our hopes in one child.”</p><p>“So I may not be the next <em>heda</em>?”</p><p>“No, you are the next <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“But if there are others—”</p><p>“—do you see them here?” Gustus interrupts, poking her shoulder, a small smile pulling at his lips. “You are the one that she wanted here, the one she invested everything in. You <em>are </em>the one.” Lexa puts her head on the table, eyeing Gustus quizzically.</p><p>“How does she know? If the Spirit chose several of us, how does she know?” Gustus reaches out and places his large hand on her head, the gesture comforting her somewhat (it was the only way he ever showed his affection, and Lexa is <em>craving </em>her father’s soft voice, her mother’s gentle hugs, her brother’s mischievous grin—Lexa is <em>craving </em>affection).</p><p>“<em>Heda </em>has recognized herself in you, Lexa.” She nods as best she can, her cheek rubbing against the wood of the table. “The two of you are more alike than you know.”</p><p>“Do you think she will ever forgive me?” Gustus lets out a laugh, looking mildly surprised.</p><p>“Is that what has gotten you so down, child?” He laughs again, patting her head gently, a smile adorning his face. “This is not an issue of forgiveness, but of<em>trust</em>. You must show <em>heda </em>you are committed to your future.”</p><p>“And how do I do that?”</p><p>“Through sacrifice, Lexa. Your loyalty is only to <em>heda</em>. Understand?” Lexa stares at him for a moment in confusion, though that shifts quickly to frustration once she grasps his meaning.  </p><p>“You knew where I went this entire time,” she accuses, sitting up straight, her fists clenching. Of <em>course</em>they knew. She had been <em>stupid</em>to think only Anya was watching her—that only Anya needed to be avoided. “Why keep silent, Gustus? Why not say something?”</p><p>“Because you must learn. This is a lesson for you, Lexa.”</p><p>“I will <em>not</em>do it. They have done nothing wrong.” Gustus frowns, clearly no longer willing to be patient with her.</p><p>“They broke the Commander’s laws. And they hurt you.”</p><p>“But the Commander isn’t right about everything. And getting hurt was my own fault.”</p><p>“No, she isn’t. But she is your Commander, and you must sacrifice everything for her,” he says kindly, and though he eyes her injuries, he does not comment further on it. Lexa turns away, her eyes filling with hot tears.</p><p>“<em>Why?</em>” Gustus wipes her tears away with his thumb, looking more like her father than her real father ever did. He smiles gently.</p><p>“Because she sacrifices everything for her people. And you must learn to do the same, child.”</p><p>(Much later, after she tells the Commander where to find Eve and Ric’s music shop, she gets a curt nod of approval that does nothing to quell the feelings of guilt and shame that broil in her veins.)</p><p>(Much later, when she is crying herself to sleep, knowing Costia will never forgive her for this, she understands what Gustus really meant: She must learn to bear this sort of pain.)</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: I actually like this version of my fic better than the original. and I like this chapter particularly</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa grins proudly when her knife embeds itself firmly at the very center of the target. From behind her, Anya lets out a snort.</p><p>“Again.”</p><p>“What do you mean? It was <em>perfect</em>.” Anya walks up to her, still nearly a head taller (though Lexa had grown quite a bit and was anxiously waiting for the day she would be taller than her mentor), and narrows her eyes threateningly.</p><p>“Your wrist flicks too far to the right. It’s bad form.”</p><p>“My form is excellent.”</p><p>“It’s weak. Had that target been a warrior, he would have lived to see you die.” Lexa growls, stalks over to the target, and notices with increasing frustration that Anya is correct: the knife is slightly to the right of the center circle. “How does being wrong make you feel, little <em>heda</em>?” Anya calls out, laughing when Lexa pulls the knife out with more force than strictly necessary and heads back towards her mentor.</p><p>“It is not <em>fair</em>. I’ve practiced for <em>weeks</em>.”</p><p>“A warrior—”</p><p>“—yes, yes, I know,” Lexa interrupts, shaking her head. “A warrior survives only as long as they practice.” Anya smirks, and Lexa grumbles under her breath once more.</p><p>“You seem frustrated, Lexa,” she teases, taking the knife from her and throwing it easily at the target. Neither one of them bothers to check if it hits the center target—they already know it has.</p><p>“You would be too,” Lexa mumbles, wiping the beads of sweat from her brow with her sleeve, and action that makes Anya frown disapprovingly. (“As <em>heda</em>, you are a warrior, but you are also the leader—it is important to act in certain ways,” she has often said, correcting Lexa’s behavior almost continuously.) “Must I go tonight?”</p><p>“Yes, <em>heda </em>has asked for you.”</p><p>“She has <em>ordered </em>me. Besides, this can only mean bad news.” She looks away from Anya, refusing to let her see the fear she knows must shine in her eyes. “<em>Heda </em>only eats dinner with me when something bad has happened.”</p><p>“It is an honor.”</p><p>“An honor I could live without.” She braces herself for Anya’s reprimand, but it does not come. Instead, her mentor steps closer, bending slightly so that she is looking Lexa in the eyes, refusing to let her hide her fear.</p><p>“You are still angry at <em>heda</em>. But it has been months.”</p><p>“Time doesn’t wash away the sting of betrayal.” Anya snorts, rolls her eyes, and straightens.</p><p>“The girl betrayed her people. She got off lightly. Had it been up to me, she would have been punished.”</p><p>“No, instead <em>I </em>am punished. She is my friend.”</p><p>“<em>Was</em>. You are forbidden from seeing her again.” Anya’s eyes narrow, as if she can sense the bubble of resistance forming in Lexa’s chest. “She will become a second in less than a year. Perhaps, by then, the Commander will be lenient and allow her to train with us.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Enough.” Lexa falls silent immediately, hanging her head, knowing she has pushed too far. “The pain will pass, Lexa. But you must be ruthless and power through it until it does.” Lexa looks up in shock, the words enough to pull her out of her shame for being so weak.</p><p>“You have said that before, Anya. But I’m old enough to know it is a lie.” Anya gently taps the back of her head, the gesture familiar and making Lexa’s chest ache for the days she was able to trust Anya implicitly.  </p><p>“I know, my little <em>heda</em>-to-be. I know,” she says softly. Then, as if she just registered her own words, she taps Lexa on the head again. “Now go. Bathe and get dressed for your dinner. Remember—”</p><p>“—yes, yes, Anya, I know. The Commander spending time with me is a great honor and I should act accordingly.” Anya grins, but shakes her head.</p><p>“Remember to act interested when <em>heda </em>mentions her flowers.” Lexa laughs, her spirits lifted, and rushes off, unwilling to be late.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Normally, she eats her meals with the other warriors—she and Anya (and sometimes Gustus) eat as they laugh and talk amongst the men and women who were willing to lay down their lives for their Commander, for their people.</p><p>Eating with the Commander, however, is a silent affair.</p><p>She sits at the end of the table, chewing absently, watching the Commander turn the page of her book with one hand, the other holding a fork that hovers over her plate, almost like she has forgotten she was eating in the first place. Lexa knows every expression the Commander is capable of—she has seen her angry, happy, frustrated, even afraid, but the calm and collected look she is sporting now is the most rare. (It is also the most dangerous.)</p><p>“You are now the same age I was when I became Commander,” she suddenly says, snapping her book shut and setting it aside. Lexa stops eating immediately, knowing they have finally gotten to the point where the dinner would be explained—the bad news given.</p><p>“Yes, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“Tell me, Lexa. Do you understand what it means to be the Commander?”</p><p>“Gustus says it is a sacrifice and Anya says it is an honor.”</p><p>“But you?” Lexa swallows, but refuses to break eye contact. She sits a little straighter in her seat, her fingers twitching against her fork.</p><p>“It is my duty.” Lexa watches as the Commander’s expression shifts, and she is shocked to see that it is a look she does not recognize. It is not pity or sorrow or even the regret she so often sports when forced to punish dissenters.</p><p>“Do you want to be Commander, Lexa? Speak true.” Lexa bites her lip, but answers honestly.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“And if I told you that you could leave, that I would understand and even accept such a decision, would you?” This is a test—everything is a test—yet somehow, Lexa wonders if this is also an actual offer. A legitimate chance to escape a life forced on her, a life full of honor and wrought with pain. She thinks of Costia, Anya, and Gustus, for the first time uncertain. She knows what <em>she </em>wants, what she has wanted all along (to be free from the burden that is <em>heda</em>, to be a farmer like her father, to help people live rather than order them to die). She wants a life that would make her mother proud. But as Lexa stares into the grey eyes of the Commander, she realizes her mother is dead. Her mother is dead, and it is <em>heda </em>who raises her—who teaches her to read and write, to fight, who gave her a home and soothes her fears. Lexa stares at the Commander, unsure when she began owing the woman <em>so much</em>, when being dragged away from home to fulfill a duty became her responsibility (because that is what it is, a responsibility. To <em>heda</em>, to their people, to all those who spent so much time preparing her for the role she must play one day).</p><p>(She thinks of Titus and his cold stare, his certainty that she could not possibly be chosen, and along with the sense of duty, ire is pumped through her veins.)</p><p>Lexa stares at the Commander and pushes away all her thoughts of running away, of escaping this life (for she is allowed to dream, but knows better than to hope).</p><p>“No, <em>heda</em>,” she answers after a long minute of silence. “I would not.” The look on the Commander’s face—the one Lexa does not recognize—remains etched into her expression as she shakes her head. It was a test, Lexa knows, but she wonders if it was a test the Commander hoped she would fail.</p><p>“Very well.” She stands abruptly, walking over to Lexa’s side of the table and leaning next to her, slowly recreating her normal mask—her normal aloof expression. “There are reports that the Ice Nation and Desert Clan are having some sort of dispute to our northwest. I set out tomorrow to ensure that it does not spill into our lands.”</p><p>“But the Ice Nation has an alliance with the Desert Clan, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“Yes, but the alliance has been fragile for some time now, and it seems as if Queen Nia believes their union is no longer to her advantage.” Her mouth twists in disgust. “She vies for war.”</p><p>“Will I be coming with you, <em>heda</em>?” To Lexa’s ultimate surprise, the Commander shakes her head.</p><p>“No. You will stay here in Polis, and you will be in charge while I am gone.” Lexa is silent so long that the Commander lets out a soft chuckle, smiling for the first time since the dinner began. “This is an honor, Lexa, an unheard of honor. No other Commander would be willing to do this.” She nods, knowing exactly why no other Commander would be willing to do such a thing. As Titus has told her (hinting at her own murky future all the while), choosing the next <em>heda </em>is a difficult process, a bloody and violent affair, sometimes leading to insurrections led by <em>Natblidas</em>. Often, the child chosen to become the next <em>heda </em>would not even be told about their status until it was time for the Conclave (Lexa knows it is a test, but what the test entails is something not even Titus is willing to explain). It was a measure of the trust between them that <em>heda </em>would willingly relinquish her command—it said that she believed Lexa would give it back, just as willingly.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“As sure as I am of you,” the Commander says with a nod. “You will be fine, child. Do not worry.” Lexa stares at her for a moment, but then looks down, somehow unable to meet the Commander’s eyes. She wonders if <em>heda </em>is aware of how big a mistake this is, she wonders if <em>heda </em>knows she will fail to meet any expectations they have of her<em>, </em>she wonders if that is what they are waiting for: for her to fail. Lexa swallows, her heart beating erratically, fear being pumped through her veins at a ridiculous pace.</p><p>“Please be careful, <em>heda</em>,” she mumbles, her eyes on her mostly full plate, wanting desperately to control the fear she knows she cannot hide from her Commander (because just as she knows <em>heda</em>, <em>heda </em>knows her).</p><p>“Having feelings does not make you weak, Lexa,” the Commander says softly, breaking Lexa’s concentration, her futile attempts to keep her fear in check, to calm her racing heart and frenzied emotions. “Succumbing to them, allowing them to rule your actions, <em>that </em>makes you weak.” This is similar to what the Commander said the day she first came to Polis, and Lexa feels relief flood through her, taking refuge in the safety of familiarity.</p><p>“Is that why you sent Costia away?” The Commander chuckles, and that shocks Lexa enough that she looks up.  </p><p>“Anya told me you were still upset about that.” Lexa is unsurprised that her mentor kept the Commander updated—she expected nothing less. “No, child. I sent her away because she distracted you from your studies. She will be back to become a second, do not worry.” Lexa studies the Commander for a second, trying to discern whether or not her words are sincere. This just makes the Commander chuckle again. “I see you take Anya’s advice not to trust anyone very seriously. Good.”</p><p>“But you trust me, <em>heda</em>. Why?”</p><p>“You are the rain after a drought, Lexa. You are my successor. You are—” She stops, shakes her head, and then smiles benignly. Lexa is not fooled for a second.</p><p>“I am what?”</p><p>“You are trustworthy,” she answers, a smile still on her face, and Lexa knows that that is not what she had been about to say. “There is no one I trust more than you.” Lexa has no idea how to respond, so instead she ignores all of Anya’s teachings—ignores all the lessons drilled into her mind—and she stands just as abruptly as the Commander, rushing to her and wrapping her arms around the older woman’s waist. For a second, the Commander is frozen, but then she relaxes, one hand moving to rest on top of Lexa’s head, the other rubbing a comforting circle on her back. “Are you all right?” she asks, her voice unnaturally soft and thick. But Lexa does not dare pull away to see the Commander’s expression</p><p>“I know I am being weak,” Lexa says, finally allowing the fear to overcome her, hiding this weakness by burying her face in the Commander’s midriff. “But for now, for right now, can I be weak?”</p><p>“Oh, Lexa.” She pulls away slightly, enough to look down at Lexa, her eyes watery. “You need not hide from me. I know you are anything but weak.”</p><p>“But Titus says—”</p><p>“You would do well not to listen to Titus,” the Commander interrupts, still allowing Lexa to hold on to her, still rubbing comforting circles into her back.</p><p>“He says I’ll bring ruin. He is the one who leads Polis in your stead, not a <em>Natblida</em>.”</p><p>“But I’ve chosen you, Lexa.”</p><p>“And he says that it’s not your choice that matters, but what the Conclave decides.” At that, the Commander lets out a sigh, extracting herself from Lexa’s grip and kneeling down, taking hold of her by the elbows, ensuring that Lexa cannot escape her gaze.</p><p>“There was a Commander, long before you and I were even born, who did not believe being <em>heda </em>was a duty or responsibility. He was greedy, power-hungry, plunged our people into needless war.” She smiles at Lexa, wordlessly asking if she is all right and offering comfort despite her dark words, and Lexa swallows hard, nodding quickly. “It is the Commander’s duty to find the children the Spirit calls to, to train them. But this <em>heda </em>was a fool—he believed that if he had no potential successor, he would be in power forever.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Without someone who could potentially succeed him, his people believed they <em>needed </em>him. He became something untouchable, irreplaceable. And even through all the atrocities he committed, he remained <em>heda</em>.” Her hands shift from Lexa’s elbows to her hands, gripping them gently, looking at her the same way her mother used to—it is soft and warm and Lexa’s heart aches. “The ones most suited to leading are the ones who are most eager to pass their power on, the ones who take on the mantle out of love and not out of greed.” She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. “The issue is, people like that rarely seek out power in the first place.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, <em>heda</em>, but I don’t understand what this has to do with Titus.”</p><p>“Titus has been the Flamekeeper for a long time,” the Commander answers, raising an eyebrow, “and he has not once chosen a successor.”</p><p>“Because he believes without a successor he is irreplaceable?” Lexa frowns, her heart thudding against her ribs. “Has Titus committed atrocities as well?”</p><p>“Titus is fiercely loyal to the Commander, Lexa. He will always be a trusted advisor, he will always protect you, he will always obey you, but his blind devotion also makes him a dangerous man.”</p><p>“What happened to him? To the greedy Commander?” The Commander releases Lexa’s hands and gets to her feet, placing a gentle hand on the top of Lexa’s head before turning and walking back to her dinner on the other side of the table.</p><p>“He died as all men do, leaving his people leaderless and consumed in war. There was chaos until the newly chosen Flamekeeper found the Spirit in a new child.” She sits down, picking up her book once more. “Titus was only seven at the time.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Lexa waits outside the war room as the Commander speaks one final time to her advisors and generals. She plays with the sash around her waist, getting increasingly annoyed as she attempts to listen in to the voices just beyond the door, only managing to hear mumbles at best.</p><p>“Were you not invited, <em>Natblida Leksa</em>?” the guard standing next to her asks her, his face lit up with a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, I was not invited either.”</p><p>“It’s not the same, Wennin,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest in irritation. “How can you stand here all day and not be curious?”</p><p>“<em>Heda </em>orders me not to hear, so I don’t.”</p><p>“You can stop your ears from working, can you?”</p><p>“No, <em>Natblida</em>. But I can keep silent. In the end, it’s the same thing.” Lexa huffs and rolls her eyes, making Wennin chuckle. “Can you keep silent too, Lexa?”</p><p>“I will not pretend I cannot hear if that’s what you mean,” Lexa says, rolling her eyes again when Wennin’s smile just widens. “What is so <em>funny</em>?” she finally snaps, glaring at him. Instead of answering, he grabs her by the shoulders and turns her to the right, pushing her gently forward before pointing at an alcove next to the door.</p><p>“There is a crack,” he whispers, releasing her and holding up his hands when she glares at him, “right at the floor there.”</p><p>“And how would you know this?”</p><p>“I spend all day standing guard here, Lexa,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I find ways to occupy my time.” Lexa looks from the crack to Wennin—he is young, face still beardless, eyes still bright—and she finds herself smiling. She is just about to thank him when the doors burst open, revealing Anya. Her lips are pursed, eyebrows raised, ands she looks at the two of them like she has caught them red-handed.</p><p>“Teaching the <em>heda</em>-to-be to break rules, are you, Wennin?”</p><p>“Of course not, Anya. I would never.” Anya’s eyes narrow, and with the slight tick of her head, she indicates for Lexa to enter the war room. Before the doors close behind her, Lexa offers Wennin an apologetic glance, but he merely grins before turning his back and resuming his post.</p><p>Anya sighs as she grabs Lexa by the upper arm and leads her further into the war room, where the Commander sits on her wooden throne, Titus stands to her right, with Gustus and the other generals forming a semi-circle before them.</p><p>“Lexa,” the Commander says once she notices her. She gets to her feet and motions for Lexa to approach her. “I have spoken to Titus and the others who will stay behind,” she indicates Anya and Gustus with her chin, “and we all agree that you will act in in my stead while I am gone.” She speaks as if this is the first time she is telling Lexa of this development, and so Lexa widens her eyes and pretends to act as if this is the first time she is hearing it. “This is a test, and though some are skeptical,” her tone grows hard, and Lexa wonders who put up a fight—Titus, Grenda, or someone new entirely, “I am confident you will do well.”</p><p>“Thank you, <em>heda</em>.” Lexa inclines her head, waits until she feels the Commander’s hand rest briefly on the back of it before she stands up straight once more. The Commander does not say anything else, merely nods to all of them before she steps away, most of the generals leaving with her. Titus gives her a searching look before he too walks away, leaving Lexa alone with Gustus and Anya.</p><p>“You will do fine,” Gustus says, patting her on the back, giving her a smile before digging through a pouch in his pocket and handing her some dried fruit—as if he could sense her fear and had taken previous steps to be ready to assuage it. “We will be with you.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Lexa’s first real test as the interim Commander comes three days after <em>heda </em>leaves.</p><p>“The dispute is over farmland, Lexa,” Gustus explains to her, his arms crossed over his chest, amusement flickering in his eyes as he speaks. Lexa shifts on the Commander’s wooden throne—a throne meant only for the Commander—and for the hundredth time wishes she did not have to do this. “This is a simple matter, and I will be here with you.”</p><p>“I just listen and decide?” Lexa asks softly. Gustus chuckles and moves over so that he is standing to her right.</p><p>“You will be fine, Lexa. I have faith in you.” Lexa nearly rolls her eyes. Faith was not helpful—she needs Gustus to <em>help </em>her, not have <em>faith </em>in her.</p><p>“Will you step in?”</p><p>“You are acting as <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“Is that a no?”</p><p>“Lexa,” Gustus says softly, leaning down to meet her eyes directly, concern flitting over his face for a moment before he is able to mask his feelings. “If you do not have faith in yourself, how will you ever convince your people to have faith in you?”</p><p>“They have no choice. I was chosen as the <em>heda</em>.” He studies her for a moment and then reaches out to rest his hand on the top of her head. Lexa closes her eyes at the comforting gesture, knowing full well that he is merely trying to put her at ease—because if anyone would know what she really means, it would be Gustus.</p><p>“It is only a dispute over farmland, Lexa,” he says. Lexa opens her eyes and takes a deep breath, nodding curtly. With one final smile, Gustus steps back, heading over to the large double doors, opening them with a flourish that is for her benefit.</p><p>The two farmers that hesitantly shuffle forward are young, most likely no older than Anya or the Commander. One is large and muscular (much like Gustus), and Lexa wonders why he was not chosen to be a warrior. The other man is thin and wiry, rubbing his palms together compulsively, his head looking a little too large for his body. This man, Lexa decides, is perfectly suitable for farming. (Anya has taught her how the sorting is done, how each child is chosen for a specific group. It is to ensure their survival—it is to ensure everyone contributes to their people—and it has been done the same way for as long as anyone can remember.) When Gustus is standing to her right once more, Lexa swallows and fixes her gaze on the smaller man.</p><p>“<em>Ron ai ridiyo op,</em>” Lexa says, sitting straight and trying her best to imitate the Commander.</p><p>When the man swallows nervously, she supposes she has been successful.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Every few weeks, the Commander sends her a letter. Sometimes, it is pages long, going in depth about the situation at their borders, with long digressions about flora she has seen, interesting people she has spoken to. Other times, the letter is short, with only simple reminders:</p><p><em>As </em>heda<em>you have a duty to protect your people, Lexa. </em> </p><p>
  <em>Do not forget to tend to my flowers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The weather is becoming cooler, bundle up. </em>
</p><p>Lexa hoards the letters, looks forward to them like nothing else, and finds herself reading them so often that she has entire passages memorized. The months without the Commander have been more difficult that she would ever have imagined, and more and more she feels utter <em>gratitude </em>that the complete weight of being <em>heda </em>has not yet settled on her shoulders. The letters provide a sense of comfort that Anya and Gustus are simply unable to provide: as long as the Commander sends letters, she is still alive—and Lexa <em>needs </em>and <em>wants </em>her to stay alive as long as possible. (If someone was to ask her how she feels about the <em>heda</em>, she would say that she respects the Commander, that she trusts the older woman, that <em>heda </em>is her teacher and mentor. But deep down, she knows it is far more than that, and she knows that that is not something she can voice aloud.)</p><p>She knows this is weakness. She knows that the Commander is not her mother. Yet despite that, sometimes Lexa wishes she was. (Her real mother—the mother who left her, who lied to her, the one who used to hold her, who rocked her to sleep—is nothing more than a fading memory, a glimpse of a life she no longer remembers.)</p><p>Anya, who has seen the bundle of letters by her bedside, never mentions them or asks what the Commander writes, and Lexa never feels any obligation to tell her. In fact, it is not until <em>heda </em>asks about how Costia is faring now that she is back in Polis that Lexa even mentions the letters to her mentor.</p><p>“<em>Heda </em>wrote that Costia is back,” Lexa says one afternoon after training, sweating despite the chill in the air. She remembers a time when she could barely lift her sword arm after only an hour of such exercises, and she is fiercely proud of the fact that she is barely out of breath today. Anya raises an eyebrow and lowers her weapon.</p><p>“She has been back for a month now. She is a second.”</p><p>“You’ve kept her from me?” She tries to keep the accusing tone out of her voice, but she knows she has been mostly unsuccessful because Anya snorts, though not unkindly.</p><p>“Oh, child,” she says, shaking her head. “I have better things to do than keep your friend from you.”</p><p>“Then why…” she trails off, knowing how she sounds and hating the amused look on Anya’s face. “Let’s go again.” She raises her sword and shifts into the fighting stance Anya taught her so long ago (arms raised, shoulders set, legs wide apart and bent at the knees, facing her opponent at an angle so as to not leave herself open).</p><p>“You wish to fight out your feelings?” she asks, raising her eyebrows even further, looking far more than just a little amused—it rankles at Lexa that her mentor is <em>laughing </em>at her, and she very nearly growls.</p><p>“Tired already, Anya?”</p><p>“You grow more impertinent every year,” Anya mutters, shaking her head in mock exasperation. “I suppose I must bruise that overblown ego of yours. To make you more tolerable, of course.”</p><p>“Of course.” Lexa does not bother to wait for a response; she attacks, swinging her sword in a wide arc, the vibrations of the weapon rattling her bones when Anya parries her attack with ease. With a frustrated huff, Lexa attacks again, and once more, Anya blocks her easily.</p><p>“You’re predictable when angry, Lexa. Brute force will never get you anywhere.” Ignoring her mentor, Lexa swings again, yet to her surprise, instead of parrying her blow, Anya steps aside. Lexa stumbles forward only briefly, but that second of imbalance is all Anya needs to come up behind her and elbow her hard in the side. Lexa drops to the ground, unable to breathe, but Anya is not done; she steps on Lexa’s fingers, crushing them until she releases her sword, and then kicks the weapon out of reach. “You make foolish mistakes when angry, and that will cost you your life, my little <em>heda</em>-to-be.” She crouches down and looks Lexa in the eye, pointedly ignoring the angry tears rolling down her cheeks. “Do you wish to go again?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then stand.” Lexa gets to her feet, wiping her cheeks hurriedly and picking up her sword without bothering to check the state of her fingers (they ache and Lexa knows she will need them bandaged later, but she does not care). “Straighten your stance—no, Lexa, your arms must be higher or you leave yourself open…yes, better. Now, attack.” Lexa does not need to be told twice. She rushes forward, but instead of swinging from above, she ducks—using her height to her advantage—and takes a jab, surprising Anya enough to force her to break her stance and take several steps back. Without pausing, Lexa advances on her mentor, parrying blow after blow, before pivoting on one foot, ducking below Anya’s sword arm, and ramming the butt of her sword into her mentor’s stomach. Anya lets out a surprised grunt and waves her hand to indicate surrender, a grin on her face. “Very well done,” she says once she has caught her breath, a grin still on her face. “Now, do you wish to talk about what bothers you?”</p><p>“She hasn’t forgiven me, Anya. For what I did.” Anya’s grin disappears, but her eyes are still amused. With a sigh, she collapses onto the ground, resting on her hands and staring up at the cloudy sky.</p><p>“You have done nothing wrong.”</p><p>“Of course I did.”</p><p>“Your duty is to your Commander. Not to Costia,” Anya says, shaking her head before lying back completely. She closes her eyes and rubs the spot Lexa hit idly. “Either the girl will understand that or she won’t. Either way, you did what was right.”</p><p>“This is what you meant, isn’t it? When you said I had no time for friends. You meant I would never <em>have </em>any friends.” Anya cracks one eye open, no longer amused. If anything, she is <em>sad</em>.</p><p>“Yes, this is what I meant.” Something must flit over Lexa’s face because Anya sits up, concerned. “Lexa—”</p><p>“It is all right,” Lexa interrupts, flexing her bruised fingers, only slightly alarmed to find that they are swollen and red. “I have you, Gustus, and the Commander. I do not need anyone else.” She forces out a chuckle when Anya continues to stare at her in concern. “Except perhaps a healer,” she jokes, indicating her hand, relieved when Anya cracks a small grin.</p><p>“Yes, yes, go. Training is over for today.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, put that away. I only need bandages.” The healer releases Lexa’s hand and heads over to the boy training under him, shaking his head irritably. “I miss Costia so,” the healer mumbles, smacking the boy on the head and pointing out the bandages. “She talked too much but at least she knew where everything was.”</p><p>“You know Costia?” Lexa asks, watching the healer carefully as he walks back to her, bandages in hand.</p><p>“Of course I know her. She is my daughter.” Lexa studies him, only then noting the similarities. Costia has his kind brown eyes, the same crooked grin. The very thought nearly brings a smile to Lexa’s face. “She spoke often of you, of how you would be a great <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t think she feels that way anymore.” The healer shrugs and wraps her hand carefully, tying it off and then looking at her with a grin.</p><p>“Perhaps. But perhaps you should ask her just to make sure.” Lexa opens her mouth to let him know that that was not possible—was not possible because Costia had been back for a month and had not come to see her—when she becomes aware that someone has just entered the healer’s station. She stares at the newcomer, speechless, and is only vaguely mindful of the fact that the healer and his second have slipped away.</p><p>“Costia.”</p><p>“Lexa.” There are a million things she wants to say. A million things, yet she knows she cannot say any of them. So rather than speak, she sits still, watching and studying Costia, waiting for her to say something. “I should have known better,” she says, avoiding Lexa’s eyes. “I should have known better than to think you would choose Eve and Ric over <em>heda</em>.” Lexa swallows, hearing the tacit portion of Costia’s comment: <em>I should have known better than to think you would choose me</em>.</p><p>“Costia—”</p><p>“I am not upset, Lexa. I understand. In fact, I am sorry. For putting you in that position in the first place. It will not happen again.” Lexa closes her eyes briefly before she slides off the cot she is sitting on and walks past Costia on her way to the exit, their shoulders brushing just a tad. “Are you not going to say anything?” Costia asks as Lexa takes one step out the door. She pauses just briefly, frantically quelling the urge to say even <em>one</em>of the million things swirling in her mind. To tell Costia how much she missed her, how <em>sorry </em>she was, how she wished they could go back to how things were, how she longed for the days they held hands and ran through the market’s streets. But with a sigh and an ache in her chest, Lexa continues on her way.</p><p>
  <em>You have no time for friends. You will never have any friends.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>When the Commander returns, it is to silent Polis streets, hushed whispers as people mill about, hard looks from warriors (as if they know what is coming, as if they know what has happened).</p><p>When the Commander returns, Lexa takes the cue from her city, and she remains just as somber, just as muted, just as afraid as the worried street vendors, the frantic healers, the overworked blacksmiths.</p><p>When the Commander returns, she is not alone.</p><p>A procession of people with flags of blue and white follow her, people with blue paint streaked over their faces, hands gripping their weapons tightly as they trudge along the crowded streets, heading towards the Commander’s tower. At the head of the procession are two people. There is a young man, possibly only a few years older than Anya, his hair cropped short, eyes narrowed into slits as he looks around cautiously. Next to him is a woman, tall and regal and far older, wearing heavy and impractical clothes (clearly a warrior in the past, from the way she moved, but no longer), a thin metal crown resting on her forehead.</p><p>Lexa watches, crouched behind one of the street vendors’ stands, her eyes flitting between the two up front and the men and women who follow them. A part of her wants nothing more than to rush to the Commander, to ask her what is happening, to make sure she is all right, but a much larger part of her knows that she should remain still (and more importantly, remain hidden). She moves slightly, just slightly, to get a better look, when one of the vendors trips into her, and she falls face-forward to the ground. The vendor’s soft yelp of surprise rings out in the silence and is enough to cause the young man and older woman’s eyes to flit over to Lexa. As she sits up straight, the Queen’s eyes rove over her body, lingering briefly at the sash. She leans towards the man and whispers something, and his gaze is locked on her as well.</p><p>Lexa clambers to her feet, not waiting around to see what the woman and the man will do. She rushes off, heading towards the training grounds beyond the Commander’s gardens, searching for Anya. When she sees absolutely no one—not even Anya’s friend, Reed, a woman who had lost her arm in a battle, who liked to watch Lexa spar and would laugh out suggestions to improve—she heads back to the tower, avoiding the newcomers who look at her curiously.</p><p>“The Commander orders that you stay in your chambers, Lexa.” She turns, feeling a rush of relief at the familiar face, actually finding herself smiling at Wennin as he approaches her. “Why are you breathing so hard?”</p><p>“Who is the woman? The man?” He frowns as he leads her to the elevator, looking as if he is debating answering her question. After a long minute, he sighs.</p><p>“That is the Ice Queen, Nia, and her son, Roan.”</p><p>“What are they doing here?”</p><p>“I was just told to take you to your chambers, to watch over you until the Ice Nation leaves the city.” She stares at him, wondering how to best word her request in order to get him to agree.</p><p>“Aren’t you curious?” she finally asks, shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands playing with the sash at her waist. “Don’t you want to know what they’re saying?”</p><p>“<em>Natblida Leksa</em>, are you suggesting we eavesdrop?” he asks with mock horror, eyes wide and mouth stretched out into a wide grin.</p><p>“Of course not,” she mutters, waving off his grin. “I’m suggesting we stand outside the war room and pretend we cannot hear. You <em>do </em>know how to keep a secret, don’t you?” Wennin shakes his head, but Lexa can tell she has won because he lets out a sigh.</p><p>When they get to the very top floor, Lexa crawls until she finds the crack between the wall and the floor, ignoring the look Wennin gives her (the slight rise of his eyebrows, the amused lift of his lips) and she presses her face to the floor, able to see the Commander’s rough leather boots as well as the Ice Queen’s unpractical shoes.</p><p>“You’ve broken our agreement, Nia,” the Commander says calmly, and Lexa watches as her feet head towards the wooden throne, pause briefly, and then turn as she apparently settles into the chair. The heel of one foot comes up, pressed against the wooden frame of the throne, the toes digging into the floor. (She can imagine the Commander’s position—the slight slouch she must have, the faux-casual way she must be sitting, her hands settled on the armrests, her head tilted to the side—and she knows what it truly is, too: a defensive stance.)</p><p>“Would you not be more comfortable standing here to eavesdrop, <em>Natblida </em><em>Leksa</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Shof op, Wennin.</em>” The guard chuckles, but he does not say another word, apparently content to watch Lexa struggle to see more out of the small crack.</p><p>“—falls away, Isolde,” Nia says, and Lexa curses under her breath when she realizes she has lost track of the conversation.</p><p>“Are you claiming your men have <em>not </em>gathered at the Desert Clan’s borders? That you have not claimed their land and territory for your own?” Lexa can practically see the slight twitch of the Commander’s eyebrow as she voices her skepticism.</p><p>“I would never dare tread on another’s land, <em>heda</em>,” Nia says, the insincerity blatant in her tone. “My men amassed at my own borders, to prevent bloodshed from a threatening clan.”</p><p>“And the new land you’ve claimed?”</p><p>“The Desert Clan regretted their decision, the land is a symbol of future goodwill towards the Ice Nation.”</p><p>“You should tread carefully, Nia. I’m not some foolish Desert Clan leader. I <em>know </em>you.” Lexa watches as the Ice Queen’s feet step closer to the Commander’s chair, stopping just short of the throne.</p><p>“Then you should know better than to think I would renege on our deal.”</p><p>“You are starting a war you have no idea how to finish,” the Commander says, and her voice sounds different, slightly higher, slightly off. (Almost, Lexa thinks, as if she is afraid.)</p><p>“And when have you ever shied away from war, Isolde?” There is a long pause, and Lexa begins to think the conversation is at an end. She is just about to crawl out of the small alcove, to abandon her eavesdropping, when the Commander speaks again.</p><p>“I will not help you,” she says, sounding normal once more—powerful, fearless, sounding like <em>heda</em>.</p><p>“When you became Commander you—” Nia begins, but the Commander seems to have had enough.</p><p>“—I said a great deal when I first became Commander. I was a child. I should never have trusted you.” There is spluttering on Nia’s end, and the Commander continues, voice growing stronger and louder. “I will not plunge my people into a war because you are a power hungry fool who refuses to let peace last.”</p><p>“Since when did the great <em>heda </em>care for her people?” Nia spits, her shoes getting even closer to the throne, the tips of her toes practically brushing the tips of the Commander’s boots. “Don’t forget, you’ve shed enough <em>Trigedakru </em>blood to fill an ocean.”</p><p>“I said no, Nia.”</p><p>“We had an agreement, Isolde. This is not something you merely walk away from.”</p><p>“You broke the agreement when you gathered your armies and invaded another Clan without provocation.” There is another pause, this one much shorter than the last, and then Nia begins speaking once more, her voice barely above a hiss.</p><p>“You sit there, <em>heda</em>, believing you have truly changed. Believing you are not the same as me. Our deal was sealed in the blood of innocents that were slaughtered by <em>both </em>our hands. The fact that you sit there on that throne at all is thanks to <em>me</em>.”</p><p>“I told you, Nia, I refuse to force needless war on my people. Not again.”</p><p>“War will come to your people whether or not you fulfill your part of the deal, Isolde, but I swear to you now, if you turn me away, I will make your people suffer.”</p><p>“Then I will condemn them to war if I must, but I will not condemn them to a future with <em>you </em>as their leader.” Nia goes silent, and she takes several steps back. After a moment, she lets out a loud and ugly laugh, one that sends shivers down Lexa’s back.</p><p>“So <em>that </em>is what this is about. You’re not nobly standing up for your people. You’re doing this for the <em>girl</em>.” She pauses, her tone becoming dark and chilling when she speaks again. “I saw her, Isolde, and she is not worth breaking our agreement.”</p><p>“She is my successor, she will be the next <em>heda</em>—”</p><p>“Don’t you dare spout out that nonsense too. Titus was raised to believe it, but surely you know better.”</p><p>“I was chosen by the Spirit—”</p><p>“<em>I </em>made you <em>heda</em>!”</p><p>“No! You helped quell an uprising. And I have paid you for that with the blood of my people, but no more.” The heel of the Commander’s foot slams down as she gets to her feet, as she steps towards the Ice Queen, standing so that there is barely an inch of space between the tips of their feet. “You will leave here, Nia. You will pull your men out of the Desert Clan’s territory, and you will return to your palace. And should you attack <em>any </em>of the Clans, know this: the <em>Trigedakru </em>will stand against you every step of the way.”</p><p>“You do this for a girl with mud-streaked cheeks and grass-stained hands? For a <em>child</em>?”</p><p>“I do this because my Spirit has chosen the next <em>heda</em>, and she is a child with mud-streaked cheeks and grass-stained hands, but better yet, she is not <em>you</em>.” Lexa’s heart is hammering, but just as she presses her ear closer to the crack, wanting to hear Nia’s response, she feels someone pull her to her feet by her sash. She struggles, shifting enough so that she sees the face of her attacker. She immediately stops her movements when she notices it is only Wennin, his finger pressed to his lips, urging her to be silent.</p><p>“You should go, Lexa,” he murmurs when she gives him a questioning look. He is far more serious than she has ever seen him, but before she can say a word, he gives her a gentle shove away from the door and towards the elevator. “<em>Beja</em>. You can’t be caught anywhere near here. And you can’t tell anyone what you have heard. Do you understand?” She nods shakily, and without looking back, she rushes off, unable to quell the feeling that the Commander’s defense of her would be her doom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: I hate ao3 and what it's doing to the spaces after italicized words and I actually cringe every time I look at my fics now</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anya wakes her up by roughly shaking her shoulder, pulling lightly on her hair.</p>
<p>“Get up, my little <em>heda</em>-to-be, there’s something I need to show you.” Lexa yawns, annoyed to have been woken up in the middle of the night, but does as she is told. She gets to her feet, pulls on her boots, and follows Anya on the long trek to the Commander’s garden.</p>
<p>“You are entering your twelfth year, Lexa,” Anya says lightly, eyeing Lexa’s rumpled bedclothes with amusement. “This is the age our children enter adulthood and become seconds. Become warriors.” Lexa bites back a yawn and nods.</p>
<p>“I know, Anya. But I am already a second.” Anya squeezes her shoulder and bends slightly.</p>
<p>“Will you let me finish?” she asks, eyeing Lexa sternly. Lexa, however, yawns again, well-versed in reading her mentor’s mood.</p>
<p>“Could this have waited until morning?”</p>
<p>“You are an ungrateful child,” Anya chides, shaking her head as she pulls out a wrapped parcel and hands it to Lexa with a roll of her eyes. “To think I went through all the trouble of getting this for you.”</p>
<p>“What is it?” Lexa asks, taking the parcel and eying Anya curiously, finally wide-awake.</p>
<p>“Open it.” She wants to argue (Gustus has told her that there will always be attempts on her life and she should never accept things from others) but instead she sighs. Slowly, she unwraps the bundle, her eyes widening when she sees what it is.</p>
<p>“You <em>stole </em>this, didn’t you?” Lexa mutters, looking up at Anya. “That’s why we are here, in the middle of the night. We’re <em>hiding</em>.”</p>
<p>“Other seconds get it. Why shouldn’t you?” Anya says flatly, ignoring Lexa’s comment entirely, straightening and crossing her arms over her chest.  “I only did what was fair.” Lexa smiles, bringing the bundle to her nose and inhaling deeply.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Anya,” she says fervently, still grinning stupidly. Every year, she has watched children become seconds, watched them receive the rarest and most precious gift of all: honeycakes. But now, she has her own generous portion, and she cannot help but inhale deeply once more, taking in the sweet smell wafting from the cake. “Can we share?” She thinks she may have honestly surprised her mentor for the first time, because Anya is staring at her as if she had never seen something quite so strange. On any other day, at any other moment, Lexa would have tried to figure out what her mentor was thinking, but with the cake in her hands and the thought of going back to sleep in the forefront of her mind, she finds she just does not care.</p>
<p>“It is yours, Lexa,” Anya says softly, but Lexa is no longer listening. She splits the cake with her fingers, and hands Anya a half. For a moment, she thinks Anya will just walk away, refuse to take the cake, but then she laughs and accepts the sweet. They settle on the ground, staring up at the stars, and Lexa takes her time eating her gift, licking her fingers clean, savoring the sweet taste of the honey. “This is why,” Anya says many minutes later, breaking the long silence.</p>
<p>“Why what?”</p>
<p>“Why the Spirit chose you.” Lexa stares at Anya curiously, not understanding what her mentor means. She decides not to ask.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From the second Queen Nia and her people leave Polis, things begin to change quickly. More and more, Anya and Gustus are called away to war meetings that Lexa is not allowed to attend. Warriors come and go from Polis at a rate Lexa is unfamiliar with. Rumors fly within the city itself, rumors of another war (though when Lexa asks <em>heda</em>about it, she merely shakes her head and refuses to answer). Even worse is the pressure suddenly placed on Lexa’s shoulders. Gone is the Anya who stole sweets for her just days ago—Anya pushes Lexa faster and further than ever, leaving her exhausted and breathless.</p>
<p>The other seconds do not fare much better. Lexa sees more of them, trains with them, and there are entire weeks during which she is in charge of their training (because she has been doing this for five years longer, she is marked as <em>different </em>by the red sash she wears, and the other seconds actually listen to her). But though more responsibility is thrust at her, Lexa has no idea why the Commander had refused to help Nia and what has happened to throw everything into such chaos.</p>
<p>“I hear the Ice Nation asked <em>heda </em>for aid, and when she refused, they declared war,” one of the seconds, a girl named Frieda, says. Costia scoffs, rolling her eyes as she rubs her wrist, where Glen (a big, burly boy with light hair) accidentally hit her with his staff. They are the only three who stayed behind with Lexa (she spars with Anya for an hour each day now, immediately after training with the seconds is over).</p>
<p>“If they needed aid it means they couldn’t even manage their war with the Desert Clan. It must be something else.”</p>
<p>“And how would <em>you </em>know, Costia?” Frieda demands, crossing her arms over her chest. Lexa watches as Costia draws herself up to her full height—an unintimidating height at that—and glares at Frieda.</p>
<p>“What makes <em>you </em>so sure that you’re right?” Their standoff continues, and from beside her, Glen lets out an awkward chuckle.</p>
<p>“You know, don’t you Lexa?” he asks, his unnatural light hair looking practically white in the sunlight. “You know what is happening.” He says it with such conviction, such belief, that Lexa cannot bear to be honest. Instead of answering, she looks away, leaving Glen to come to his own conclusions. “I knew it!” he says, laughing and drawing Costia and Frieda’s attention. “Will you tell us, Lexa? Tell us what happened?” She blinks, uncomfortable with the sudden attention she is getting. The other seconds listen to her, obey her, but they also do not like her (they incline their heads because they know they must, not because they wish to). But Glen, Frieda, and Costia seem to genuinely respect her, <em>like</em>her even, and though Lexa knows that that is a dangerous thought—“You’re not here to be liked,” Gustus once said, “you’re here to lead, to be in charge”—she cannot help it. For the first time, Lexa finds herself craving the approval of someone other than the Commander.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Glen,” she says finally, shaking her head. Somehow, however, rather than quell their excitement, her comment burgeons it.</p>
<p>“I promise not to tell anyone, Lexa,” Frieda says, walking over to Lexa and ignoring Costia’s annoyed huff. “We’re all trustworthy.” She gestures offhandedly to herself and the others, causing Costia to huff again.</p>
<p>“I don’t know why you bother asking. Lexa is the <em>heda</em>-to-be, she won’t say a word if the Commander told her not to,” Costia mutters, bitterness lacing her tone.</p>
<p>“Have you ever considered that the problem was <em>you</em>, Costia?” Frieda snaps. Before Costia can reply, Lexa holds up a hand, shaking her head.</p>
<p>“Costia is right,” she says, not looking at the girl she once considered her friend. Since walking away from her, they have not really spoken, only interacting when absolutely necessary during training. (Lexa tells herself it is because she has learned from her past mistakes, because she is above this concept of ‘friendship,’ but the sad truth is that she cannot bear to meet Costia’s eyes, cannot stomach the look of disdain and disappointment she is sure to see.) “The Commander has her reasons for keeping this quiet.” Frieda snorts, but she nods in acceptance.</p>
<p>“I wish she would explain her reasons,” Glen murmurs, almost petulantly, and Lexa schools her expression before any of them notice that she wishes the same thing.</p>
<p>(Many things have changed since the Commander refused to help Queen Nia, but none of them hurt as much as the distance that has sprung between them.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She finds the Commander in her garden, her fingers running over the petals of a flower. There is a strange expression on her face, almost wistful, and Lexa suddenly regrets coming to find her.</p>
<p>“Was there something you needed?” the Commander asks, leaning forward to take in the scent of the flower (Lexa knows from experience that the aroma is strong, burning the nostrils, but <em>heda </em>seems unaffected.)</p>
<p>“Have I upset you, <em>heda</em>?” Lexa asks quickly, not wanting to give her nerves time to fail her. The Commander straightens and clasps her hands together in front of her, her head tilting slightly to the side. She is wearing warpaint (she is always wearing warpaint these days), and for whatever reason, Lexa finds herself thinking that this is not the same Commander who left so many months ago.</p>
<p>“Do you know why this garden exists?” she asks, ignoring Lexa’s question. She takes a step forward, and it takes all of Lexa’s will to not retreat.</p>
<p>“No.” The Commander nods, as if she expected this answer.</p>
<p>“The story is that the first Commander was covered in so much of her enemies’ blood that no amount of washing could make the stench go away.” Lexa swallows, her eyes flickering down to the Commander’s clasped hands for a moment, imagining them covered in blood—imagining how she thought <em>heda </em>must see them. “Oh no, Lexa. Not just her hands,” she says, clearly reading Lexa’s mind. “Head to toe, she <em>swam</em>in the blood of the people she slew.”</p>
<p>“What happened?”</p>
<p>“Her people, knowing that the blood she shed was for their well-being, planted her a garden, filling it with the most fragrant flowers they could find.” She points to a small white flower in the corner, and Lexa takes the hint. She steps over and bends down, taking a deep breath through her nose. The scent is sweet, almost too sweet, and Lexa nearly gags. “Because she could not avoid the bloodshed, her people decided to cover it up. To overwhelm the stench of blood with the aroma of beauty.” She looks at all the flowers and shakes her head. “Do you know what the problem is?”</p>
<p>“No.” The Commander nods again, as if she expected this as well. She gestures wildly to the garden, the wistful expression on her face giving way to an almost desperate one—her eyes taking on a terrified gleam, the warpaint serving as a backdrop of darkness, making her look like she wanted nothing more than to plunge into its depths.</p>
<p>“One cannot stem the current of a river with a piece of paper,” she says, shaking her head, focusing her eyes on Lexa for the first time. “Do you understand? Though her people tried to mask it with flowers and beauty, the truth is that the Commander still <em>reeked </em>of the lives she tore apart.” Lexa stares at the Commander for a long moment and then tentatively reaches out, taking one of the older woman’s hands and squeezing it gently.</p>
<p>“I smell nothing, <em>heda</em>,” Lexa mutters, and to her ultimate shock, she is met with laughter rather than a reprimand.</p>
<p>“Because you are not yet soaked in the blood of your enemies, child,” she says, turning away from Lexa, roughly pulling her hand away.</p>
<p>“Is this why you spend so much time in the garden?” Lexa asks, feeling somewhat bold. “Because you want to mask the smell?” The Commander does not answer. She steps further away from Lexa and points to a vine, growing unchecked on the walls surrounding the garden, clusters of small purple flowers hanging from it.</p>
<p>“Our people call it the hanging vine,” the Commander says, gesturing for Lexa to step closer. “It grows on trees, the walls of huts and homes, on our walls outside of Polis. But it is most commonly found near the village where I grew up.” Lexa remains silent, barely daring to breathe, watching as a faraway look appears on the Commander’s face. “Some of my earliest memories are of a spring breeze wafting the scent of this flower through the village. I remember how my mother refused to call it a hanging vine, because she claimed such a beautiful flower deserved a beautiful name.” The Commander smiles softly and turns to look down at Lexa, the faraway look in her eyes gone, along with the desperate desire to fall away. She looks like herself again. “I spend so much time in the garden because it reminds me of home.” She smiles bitterly. “My only wish is to be buried in my village after my fight is finally over, among all those flowers.”</p>
<p>“Why can’t you?” The Commander places a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly.</p>
<p>“Even in death, <em>heda </em>belongs to her people, Lexa.” She turns to leave when Lexa gathers her courage once more.</p>
<p>“Have I upset you, <em>heda</em>?” she asks again, watching carefully as the Commander’s back stiffens. After a second, she turns around to give Lexa a sad smile.</p>
<p>“You are the rain after a drought, Lexa.” She gestures to the garden once more. “These flowers bloom for you.” With one last sad smile, she turns and is gone before Lexa can say another word.</p>
<p>(In the end, Lexa confesses what she overheard to Gustus, and he gives her a sad smile. He explains that the Ice Queen returned to Polis with <em>heda </em>to show her thanks. And when Lexa forces herself to ask what the Ice Queen would thank the Commander for, it is Gustus who tells her how in the middle of the night, a large group of warriors snuck into their lands from the Desert Clan, and how <em>heda </em>had to make a quick decision. He tells her how the <em>Trikru </em>warriors slew them all effortlessly, how the ecstasy of victory turned into horror as the sun’s rays illuminated the remnants of the battle the next morning.)</p>
<p>(Gustus tells her how the Commander, in her haste to ensure the safety of her people, ordered her warriors to kill dozens of men, women, and children who were fleeing their war-torn lands, who were anything <em>but</em>warriors. He explains that <em>that </em>was why the Commander refused to offer the Ice Nation aid, that <em>that </em>was why the Queen was so angry.)</p>
<p>(Later, when there is a strong gust of wind, Lexa thinks it carries with it not the aroma of the small purple flowers, but the scent of the blood her <em>heda</em>has shed. Later, long after Gustus has gone and Lexa finds herself back in the Commander’s garden, she wonders what else they are lying to her about.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was an accident.</p>
<p>Anya had given her permission to use real swords, and Costia immediately partnered up with Frieda, leaving Lexa to spar with Glen. But Glen was clumsy, as he always tended to be, took a wild swing, and the next thing Lexa knew, she was bleeding heavily from her arm, the world was growing black, and Glen was nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>When she wakes up, it is dark, and the Commander is sitting on a chair next to her bed, a book in her hand, a candle burning next to her, only illuminating half of her face.</p>
<p>“It was an accident,” Lexa says immediately. The Commander looks up, and before she can hide it, she looks <em>relieved</em>.</p>
<p>“How do you feel, child?” she asks, her voice gentle, far more gentle than anything Lexa has ever heard her use before (this is how Lexa knows that her injury was serious, how she is sure Glen is in trouble). She puts aside her book and shifts forward, kneeling by Lexa’s bed. “Do not move,” she chides gently as Lexa tries to sit up. The Commander takes her hand and squeezes it comfortingly. “You are weak from your injury.”</p>
<p>“I am fine,” Lexa mutters, shaking her head before repeating herself: “It was an accident.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” the Commander says, “I agree.”</p>
<p>“So Glen will not be punished?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no. He will. But not for the accident.” Lexa studies the Commander blankly, and after a moment, she lets out a sigh and returns to her chair (though she doesn’t let go of Lexa’s hand).</p>
<p>“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Lexa insists. “It was my mistake. I should have been paying attention. He is a clumsy warrior.”</p>
<p>“Like I said,” the Commander says coolly, “he will not be punished for the accident itself. He is being punished for abandoning you to die. For running away.”</p>
<p>“He was just scared—”</p>
<p>“Then he is a coward and is even more deserving of punishment.” Lexa swallows, realizing that the Commander is unmovable on this, so she nods in acceptance.</p>
<p>“What is his punishment?” she asks.</p>
<p>“He abandoned the <em>heda-</em>to-be to die, Lexa,” the Commander says, her voice soft, and a sense of cold dread settles into Lexa’s chest. “The punishment is severe.”</p>
<p>“No, no—”</p>
<p>“He is to die in three days,” she continues, ignoring Lexa’s protests. “And Lexa, it will be by <em>your</em>hands.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She cannot do this!” Lexa exclaims for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time, Anya rolls her eyes.</p>
<p>“Of course she can, she is <em>heda</em>. She can do what she likes.”</p>
<p>“He did nothing wrong.”</p>
<p>“You nearly died.”</p>
<p>“Because of my own carelessness!”</p>
<p>“He ran away, Lexa,” Anya says, frowning like she could not understand Lexa’s protests. “He left you, the <em>heda</em>to be<em>, </em>to die. He is a coward and he committed the highest of crimes. He <em>must </em>be punished.”</p>
<p>“Then exile him! Or force him to work on the farms. Why <em>kill </em>him?” Anya’s face hardens and she shakes her head.</p>
<p>“You are the rain after a drought, child,” she says. “The boy will serve as a message to anyone who would dare think about doing you harm.”</p>
<p>“I am <em>tired </em>of that phrase,” Lexa hisses, tugging on her bandaged arm as she attempted to pull on her shirt. Anya steps forward to help, but at Lexa’s glare, rolls her eyes and holds her hands up in surrender. “What does it even <em>mean</em>?” But Anya just grins, not looking inclined to answer. “I will not do it,” Lexa mutters, hating that she sounds petulant. Hating that she sounds like a child. Anya lets out a mirthless laugh.</p>
<p>“You have no choice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Have you tried arguing with the Commander?” Frieda asks the moment training is over and the other seconds have shuffled away (Lexa had merely observed, standing by idly as the others worked, her mood souring with each passing minute). “Perhaps she will be forgiving.”</p>
<p>“She will not speak to me,” Lexa mutters, sitting cross-legged on the ground, pulling out tufts of grass with her fingers. Frieda sits across from her, a contemplative look on her face.</p>
<p>“Well, then speak to one of the generals. Or to your mentor. Surely you have some influence.”</p>
<p>“I have no influence,” Lexa snaps, not liking Frieda’s tone. “<em>Heda </em>has made a decision. It is final.” Costia looks at the two of them, a frown pulling on her lips.</p>
<p>“But you don’t want it to happen,” she says, not meeting Lexa’s eyes, Frieda, however, has no such qualms. She stares at Lexa carefully, searching for the lie.</p>
<p>“You don’t want it to happen, right Lexa?” she asks. Lexa pulls out a fistful of grass, tossing it out in front of her, frustrated and scared and knowing she has no right to either of those emotions. They do not know, she reminds herself. They do not know that Glen is to die at <em>her </em>hands.</p>
<p>“Of course not,” she finds herself answering honestly. Her response kindles something in Costia, because she moves suddenly, kneeling down next to them with a frenzied expression.</p>
<p>“Then we get him out.”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about?” Lexa says, close to rolling her eyes. Frieda, however, seems interested.</p>
<p>“Toln is on duty tonight. He always naps during his watch.”</p>
<p>“And how would you know this?” Lexa asks just as Frieda leans forward, motioning for Costia to continue. The two girls ignore Lexa entirely, now focused only on each other. </p>
<p>“We wait until Toln is asleep, grab the keys, and help Glen escape. I can get him some supplies, like bandages, maybe even a knife.” Frieda nods.</p>
<p>“I can get him food. So he doesn’t have to worry about hunting for a few days.” They turn to Lexa when she lets out a snort despite herself, identical expressions of distrust on their faces (Lexa tries to ignore it, how much it hurts that they believe they can trust each other but not her—not the <em>heda</em>-to-be).</p>
<p>“And where will he go?” she asks, raising her eyebrows, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Have you thought of that? How will he avoid our scouts? Our men on horseback? He’ll never get very far.”</p>
<p>“At least he will have a fighting chance, Lexa,” Costia says sharply. “It is better than what <em>heda </em>plans for him<em>.</em>” Something in Lexa snaps. <em>They do not know</em>, she tells herself. <em>They do not know.</em></p>
<p>“Do you <em>know </em>what <em>heda </em>has planned for him? Do you understand what will happen in two days?” Their distrust has turned into confusion and curiosity, but it is the false look of understanding in Costia’s eyes that spurs Lexa on (because there is <em>no one</em>but the Commander herself who understands what Lexa must do. No one). “<em>I</em>am to kill him. <em>I </em>am to end his fight.”</p>
<p>“Lexa…” But Costia cannot finish whatever it is she wants to say. She looks down, once again avoiding Lexa’s eyes. Even Frieda does not look her way. Lexa sits there for only a few more beats before she gets to her feet and tries her best not to run off—tries her best to coolly walk away.</p>
<p>It is only when she makes it back to her room that she allows herself to collapse against the door, shaking and trying to calm her racing heart by clenching and unclenching her fists, taking deep, gasping breaths. But every time her eyes fall on her grass-stained hands, she is forced to try her best not to think about how, in two days time, they will be stained in an entirely different way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She can feel the Commander’s eyes on her, burning a hole into her skull, but she refuses to look up from her plate, aimlessly pushing around her food with her fork, waiting anxiously for the moment she would be allowed to leave.</p>
<p>“It seems that <em>I </em>have upset <em>you</em>,” the Commander says, sounding slightly amused. Lexa looks up despite herself, enraged. The Commander, who has not spoken to her since telling her of Glen’s fate, <em>would </em>choose this night—this moment—to talk to her again.</p>
<p>“You have asked me to kill a boy who has done nothing wrong. Of course I’m upset,” she finds herself saying, unsure when this surge of courage arrived, positive that if she did not tone down the anger, she would get herself into serious trouble.</p>
<p>“Done nothing wrong?” the Commander repeats incredulously, putting down her fork and leaning back in her chair, her grey eyes never once wavering from Lexa’s. “Your arm is in a sling. You won’t be able to train for weeks. You lost a great deal of blood.”</p>
<p>“It was an accident.”</p>
<p>“He left you to <em>die</em>.”</p>
<p>“He feared for his own life!”</p>
<p>“And <em>that </em>is the problem, child!” she shouts, losing her patience. She stands quickly, the legs of her chair screeching against the floor as she roughly pushes it back. “You are the <em>heda</em>-to-be.”</p>
<p>“You say that, but it has no meaning for me. I am not <em>heda</em>, so how is my life more important than his?” This makes the Commander’s mouth snap shut and she studies Lexa curiously for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle.</p>
<p>“I see,” she says, nodding. “You don’t understand your own importance.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p>
<p>“Lexa, when I asked you what it meant to be the Commander, you said that Anya told you it was an honor, that Gustus said it was a sacrifice, and that you believed it was your duty.” Lexa stares blankly at her, hearing the unasked question in her tone, knowing exactly where she wants to go with her comment. For a wild second, Lexa wants to be difficult, wants to resist with all her might—she does not want a lesson, she wants Glen to be let go. But the Commander’s grey eyes are on her, a kind and patient look on her face, and as always, Lexa is loath to disappoint her.</p>
<p>“What does it mean to be the Commander, <em>heda</em>?” she asks quietly, feeling a burst of joy in her chest at the Commander’s answering smile and hating it. <em>You are angry with her</em>, Lexa reminds herself forcefully. <em>She would have you kill Glen.</em></p>
<p>“Being Commander is a death sentence.” All of Lexa’s anger washes away with just six words, every ill thought she had of the Commander over the last two days replaced with nothing but <em>fear </em>(not for herself, but for the Commander, the Commander she cannot lose, the Commander she desperately needs). “Gustus and Anya have not explained this,” she states matter-of-factly, smiling at what Lexa assumes is a stupid look on her face (but Lexa is hearing another voice in her head, the voice of her brother: <em>They’re preparing you to die</em>, he had said, understanding the truth long before she did).</p>
<p>“No,<em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“Becoming <em>heda </em>is an honor, a sacrifice, and it <em>is </em>your duty. But more than that, becoming <em>heda </em>means your life is no longer your own. You are expected to live for your people, and then you will die for your people.” Lexa says nothing, and the Commander smiles at her approvingly. “That is why <em>heda </em>is so revered. Why her life is protected. It is not her own to lose, do you understand?”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda </em>belongs to her people,” Lexa mutters, looking down, feeling completely deflated.  </p>
<p>“That is why the boy must be punished. Why <em>you </em>must be the one to end his fight. He jeopardized the future of his people, and that is a grave crime.”</p>
<p>“But <em>heda</em>, he did not <em>mean </em>to,” Lexa protests weakly.</p>
<p>“I did not say it was fair or that it was right. But it is <em>necessary</em>, Lexa. Always remember, you belong to your people, and you must sacrifice <em>everything </em>for them.” She swallows hard, avoiding Lexa’s gaze. “One day you will understand.”</p>
<p>“No, I refuse,” Lexa hisses out, the surge of anger coming right back. She gets to her feet as well, and without bothering with an apology or even a look at the Commander, she storms away.</p>
<p>(She does not hear the stifled sob that escapes <em>heda</em>as she leaves.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She refuses to get out of bed at all the day before she is to kill Glen.</p>
<p>At first, Anya looks willing to drag her out if she needs to, but she has a whispered conversation with someone out in the hall, and she comes back in only to sit at the chair next to Lexa’s bed, a defeated look on her face.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Lexa,” she says after a long silence. “I should not have allowed swords that day. This is all my fault.”</p>
<p>“It was my fault for not paying attention to him. I should have known better.”</p>
<p>“Lexa, the pain will pass.” She does not answer right away. First, she shifts so that she is no longer hiding beneath her covers, and she faces Anya with a blank look (the blank look her mentor taught her, the one that Lexa has never really felt the need to use <em>on </em>her).</p>
<p>“Will you promise me something?” she asks, something in her tone causing Anya to actually wince.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course.”</p>
<p>“No more lying. Promise that you will stop lying to me.” Anya studies her for a moment and then nods, her fingers twitching, as if she wants to reach out, before she stills—as if she thinks better of it.</p>
<p>“I promise, my <em>heda</em>-to-be. I will never lie to you again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The night before she is to kill Glen, Lexa avoids her chambers—more accurately, avoids her bed and the nightmares that chase her in sleep—by aimlessly strolling the dark, empty streets of Polis. The night before she is to kill Glen, Lexa circles the tower, circles the gardens behind it, all the while running in circles in her mind, trying to think of a way to save the silly boy who others had deemed to be worthless and doomed.</p>
<p>She comes to a stop when she sees a lit torch in the garden, and she moves so that she is hidden by the flowers and shrubs—planted for the Commander and tediously tended to by the Commander—not wanting to be seen by a guard, only to have to explain to <em>heda </em>why she was out to late.</p>
<p>But it is not a guard who stands in the garden with the torch: it is Titus.</p>
<p>His head is bowed low, his eyes on the ground, as the Commander meanders through her garden, reaching out to graze the petals of some flowers with her hand, leaning forward to smell others. There is a calm look on her face, eyes blank as she waits. (For that is clearly what she is doing, waiting for Titus to speak first.)</p>
<p>“The boy should die at your hands, Commander,” he says finally, letting out a displeased huff—as if angry that the Commander has more patience than he does. “You give her too much credit, too much honor.”</p>
<p>“We’ve spoken about this already. She will be the next, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“You cannot possibly know such a thing,” Titus says, and though he sounds upset—even angry—he manages to keep his expression clear as he follows the Commander around the garden. “I know you believe she is special—”</p>
<p>“I do not <em>believe </em>she is special,” the Commander interrupts, “I know it.”</p>
<p>“Then why do this?” Titus asks, and clearly he is getting desperate. “You claim she is special, that she is the rain after a drought, and yet you groom her to be just like you.” The Commander’s expression shifts from calm to anger to fear before returning to its impassiveness, the changes coming so quickly that Lexa would have thought she imagined it had she not been so familiar with the Commander—had she not spent so much time with the older woman.</p>
<p>“She is not like me,” the Commander says flatly. There is an undercurrent of warning in her tone, one that Titus misses entirely.</p>
<p>“You brought her here, broke all the traditions I taught you by explicitly choosing her as your successor, are bringing <em>war</em>on us because of your stubbornness surrounding the girl, but Isolde, she must still go through the Conclave. She must prove her worth to her people, and your word counts for nothing.”</p>
<p>“Do not forget who you’re speaking to, Titus. I’m your <em>heda</em>. Your Commander.”</p>
<p>“And I am the Flamekeeper!” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head and shifting the torch to his other hand. “I worry about the Spirit, <em>heda</em>. You cultivate weakness in the girl by showing her affection. The Conclave will destroy her, let alone carrying the Spirit and leading our people.” The Commander presses a tired hand to her temple, sighing.</p>
<p>“Tomorrow is a test. Should she pass, she will get through the Conclave with no issue.”</p>
<p>“And tell me Isolde,” Titus asks, leaning forward, “do you truly believe she has strength for it?”</p>
<p>“Lexa is stronger than you know,” she snaps, sounding angry for the first time since Titus began what sounds like an old argument.</p>
<p>“Perhaps, but even the strongest of metals can become brittle and shatter when pushed too far.”</p>
<p>“Then what does it matter to you, Titus? Should she fail tomorrow, you no longer need to worry about her,” Isolde says calmly, ceasing her pacing around the garden. She stands with her back to Lexa’s hiding spot, Titus shifting so that he stands to her right (always, always, the Flamekeeper stands to the right).</p>
<p>“I do not worry for <em>Leksa kom Trikru, </em>I worry for you,” he retorts, rubbing his free hand over his shaved head. “I know you hope she will fail tomorrow. So why, Isolde? Why are you doing this?”</p>
<p>“Because she will be the next Commander, and I don’t want that for her.” Titus is stunned into silence, shaking his head and taking a step back, as if he had truly never before seen the Commander for what she was.</p>
<p>“She will break tomorrow,” he finally says, voice sounding off—thick, gruff, as if he is swallowing back emotion. “But she will not break in the way you want. This will turn her into you.”</p>
<p>“No, Lexa is not like me. Pass or fail tomorrow, she is still the rain after a drought.”</p>
<p>“How, <em>heda</em>?”</p>
<p>“She argued on the boy’s behalf,” she answers simply, clasping her hands behind her back. “But you’re right, Titus,” she continues, head tilted up as she looks at the sky. “Even the strongest of us eventually break. So promise me you will protect her.” For a second, it looks as if Titus will refuse, but then he bows his head low.</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>.”   </p>
<p>And when the Commander looks back down, before she turns to Titus and places a hand on his shoulder, Lexa swears her head tilts to the side, swears that she can feel <em>heda’s </em>cool, grey gaze on her skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is tied to a wooden post, a terrified expression on his face. The other seconds mutter to one another, but Lexa only has eyes for her Commander (her Commander, who is donning her full war gear, with her shoulder brace and warpaint, who secretly hopes that Lexa cannot do what she is supposed to do).</p>
<p>“Are you ready?” she asks Lexa quietly. With a clenched jaw, Lexa nods. There is utter silence as Lexa and the Commander walk over to face Glen (Glen, who has tears streaming down his cheeks because he is only a boy, only a boy who has done nothing wrong but somehow did <em>everything</em>wrong, a boy who does not deserve this fate). He does not say a word as she stares at him, he does not even acknowledge that there was once a time they sat together and laughed and talked and trained (but then, Lexa is not acknowledging such times either).</p>
<p>“<em>Ste yuj</em>,” Gustus mutters in Lexa’s ear as he hands her a sword. It is ceremonial, never used in battle, only to end the fight of those who have broken their laws. Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa can see Frieda and Costia, standing side by side, identical expressions of sorrow on their faces.</p>
<p>She swallows and focuses only on Glen.</p>
<p>She does not want to do this. <em>You are the rain after a drought</em>. She would never choose to do this. <em>You are the </em>heda<em>-to-be</em>. This is a test she wants nothing more than to fail. Heda <em>belongs to her people</em>.</p>
<p>(Her people need her, her people need her, <em>her people need her.</em>)</p>
<p>Glen closes his eyes as Lexa raises the sword. Her hands shake, there are tears in her eyes, blurring her vision, but she steps forward, sure footed, and runs Glen through. (He only makes a soft gasp as the blade enters his chest, his head falling forward as his last breath leaves him, and Lexa’s hands are still shaking as she removes the sword.)</p>
<p>She stands there, listening to the total silence, relishing the soft breeze and the sweet scent of the flowers from the hanging vine.</p>
<p>(The breeze also carries with it the stench of blood, the stench that comes from <em>her</em>hands, but she chooses to ignore it.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She rocks back and forth, her arms wrapped around herself in a desperate attempt to imitate a feeling of security and safety she had when her mother held her. It is not working, she knows it is not working, because it is becoming harder and harder to breathe, tears burn her eyes (though she still refuses to let them fall), and there is an ache somewhere deep in her chest—an ache she does not know how to soothe.</p>
<p>A sharp rap at her door shocks her enough that she stills.</p>
<p>“Lexa, let me in.” Anya promised she would keep everyone away, Anya promised that Lexa could be alone for the rest of the night. But for whatever reason, Costia is at her door.</p>
<p>“I wish to be alone.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda </em>asked me to come see you.” With a grunt—realizing <em>heda’s </em>orders without actually needing any orders—Lexa gets to her feet shakily and opens the door for Costia, retreating into the corner of her room and not meeting the girl’s eyes. “Lexa—”</p>
<p>“I have no time for friends,” Lexa snaps, not letting her speak. “I have no time for friends. It’s best if you just stayed away from me.”</p>
<p>“Why would you think that?” she asks patiently, taking a tentative step forward, as if testing the waters with a wild animal (and Lexa wonders if that is an apt comparison—if she is a wild animal, destined to lose all those who have the misfortune to stray across her path).</p>
<p>“I belong to my people,” she states, meeting Costia’s eyes, surprised by her former friend’s tears, by the distress written all over her face. She moves further forward, and Lexa does not turn away. “I belong to my people, so I have no time for friends.”</p>
<p>“You belong to your people, Lexa,” she agrees softly, holding out her arms, a wordless offer. “Let me belong to you.” Lexa stares at Costia unblinkingly, torn. She knows what she is expected to do (push her away, push her away, <em>push her away</em>), but Glen’s blood still soaks her hands—will <em>always</em>soak her hands—and she cannot bear to lose someone else so soon (that is, after all, what would happen should she push Costia away now, she would lose her forever, because she can tell—from the tears in Costia’s eyes, the distress written all over her face—that this is the last time she will offer an olive branch). So instead of immediately turning Costia down, Lexa lets her take the final few steps forward and leans into her, accepting her embrace. The feeling of her arms wrapping around her breaks down the last of her resistance. It is at that moment that Lexa allows herself to collapse, to accept the comfort she does not feel she deserves—not from Costia, not from anyone.</p>
<p>It is at the moment, as Costia hugs her, holding her tightly and not saying a word as sobs finally break free and tears roll down her cheeks, the ache in her chest being soothed by Costia’s warmth—as this girl she turned her back on takes her back with open arms—that Lexa comes to an understanding: if she is the rain after a drought, then Costia is the first ray of sunshine after a storm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: I am jealous of my friends with significant others right now</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She sees Glen.</p><p>His unnaturally light hair looks colorless under the sun’s glaring rays. His wrists are tied above his head, and tears roll unchecked down his cheeks. Beside him stands the Commander, her warpaint making her look terrifying, the shoulder guard an indication that she is <em>only </em>the <em>heda </em>at the moment.</p><p>“Can you do it, Lexa?” she asks. “Can you kill him? Will you be the rain after a drought?” Lexa’s hands shake, and she is suddenly worried that she will not be able to retain her grip on the weapon.</p><p>“Please, <em>heda</em>,” Lexa says helplessly, falling to her knees (they are alone, except for Glen. There is no one to witness her weakness, no one to see Lexa beg). “Please spare him.”</p><p>“Is that your choice?”</p><p>“Yes, yes it is.” The Commander stares at her impassively, her grey eyes glittering with disappointment, warpaint mixed with the bright red of blood.</p><p>“Very well. Then you will take his place. <em>Jus drein jus daun</em>, Lexa. Even if it is <em>your </em>blood.” Suddenly, Lexa is the one tied to the pole, her wrists raw and aching against the tough rope. In front of her, the Commander raises the ceremonial sword. “<em>Ste yuj</em>, <em>goufa</em>.” Lexa closes her eyes, preparing herself for the blow…</p><p>…but it never comes.</p><p>She opens her eyes, and she is in a village, similar to where she grew up. It must have rained recently, because mud squelches beneath her boots as she walks, studying the homes made out of metal sheets (so unlike what she sees in Polis, with their wooden and even clay brick homes, a place Gustus calls a ‘proper’ city). Yet somehow, Lexa finds the village beautiful. Children’s toys lay on the ground, forgotten. The smell of the most recent hunt roasting over a fire wafts through the air. And then there are the flowers: everywhere, colors ranging from white to a bright, electric blue, and the most abundant of them all, the small purple flowers from the hanging vine. Lexa stops when she sees a particularly large cluster of the flowers and reaches out, barely brushing the petals with her fingertips.</p><p>“Wisteria,” the Commander says. Lexa is unsurprised she is there, does not wonder how she did not hear the older woman’s approach.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The flower was called wisteria. Before the world ended.” She leans forward, her nose brushing against the flower, a relaxed expression on her face (a face wiped clean of the paint, wiped clean of blood). “It is beautiful, no?”</p><p>“Yes, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“Do you know why we call it the hanging vine?” Lexa shakes her head, and the Commander straightens, her grey eyes fixed on Lexa, everything about her—from the hard gaze to the stiffness of her shoulders—making Lexa feel cold. “They say that those who survived the world’s end were driven mad by the pain. So they made ropes out of these vines and hung themselves.” Lexa swallows, taking several steps back, slipping in the mud and falling backwards. The Commander looms over her, suddenly dressed in her war gear, face slicked with so much war paint that it drips off of her and onto Lexa. (It is only when Lexa frantically tries to rub the paint off that she realizes it is blood—sticky and warm and thick.) She wants to move, wants to run, to cry, to curl up in a ball and wait until it is all over, but she knows she cannot do any of those things. Instead, she lays on the mud, staring up into the eyes of her Commander (a Commander she has not feared until now). “Are you the rain after a drought, Lexa?” she asks, her grey eyes still cold, still hard. Lexa swallows.</p><p>“I do not know.”</p><p>“These flowers bloom for you, <em>goufa</em>.” She indicates the wisteria, a small smile appearing on her lips. “This is your death sentence.” Lexa feels tears roll down her cheeks and she turns away, curling up into a ball.</p><p>“No more,” she mutters. “No more. Please<em>, heda</em>. No more.” The Commander kneels beside her, and after a short pause, gathers Lexa into her arms, holding her tightly, smoothing back her hair and rocking her. Lexa’s eyes flutter close.</p><p>“It is all right, child. It will be all right.” The Commander continues rocking her, but Lexa’s silent tears do not cease. <em>It is not all right, </em>she wants to scream, <em>it is not all right and it will never be all right</em>.</p><p>(When she wakes, she is in her own bed, and Anya dozing in the chair beside her, one hand clenching Lexa’s. When she wakes, she wipes her cheeks hurriedly, hiding the evidence of her weakness, her nightmare still before her eyes.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Are you all right, Lexa?” She flinches at the wording, but gives Costia a reassuring smile. They have not spoken of what she did (of how she fell apart in Costia’s arms, sobbing like a child several months ago), and for that, Lexa is eternally grateful. However, she is far more appreciative of the fact that whatever rift had sprung between them after meeting Eve and Ric (and then betraying them) is now gone.</p><p>“I heard Anya telling Verda that Lexa has not been sleeping,” Frieda says in a mock whisper. “That she has not been eating, that she has not even touched a sword since…” She trails off, clearly unable to finish her statement, the light teasing tone she had first adopted all but gone. Lexa however, is inwardly cursing Anya. It was not enough that she told the Commander everything, but now she was talking to the other mentors too.</p><p>“Anya is mistaken.”</p><p>“You do look tired, Lexa,” Costia says worriedly, stepping closer. She raises a tentative hand to Lexa’s cheek, her eyes full of concern. Lexa allows the touch for only a moment before gently pulling Costia’s hand away, stepping back. “You haven’t trained with us in months.”</p><p>“I have been spending more time with Anya.” This is true, she has been spending more time with her mentor rather than the other seconds. But it was not by choice: “In the state you are in, those seconds would destroy you. It is best if we trained alone.” (Anya does not say more, but Lexa knows what those words truly mean. “You are being weak,” Anya does not say, “and we cannot have anyone seeing the <em>heda</em>-to-be weak.”) </p><p>“Is it a <em>heda</em>-to-be sort of thing? Is that why you’re being so secretive?” Frieda asks, and Lexa notices she looks vaguely uncomfortable, by Costia’s close proximity to Lexa or the topic of their conversation, Lexa does not know or care. “You never spend time with us anymore.”</p><p>“I am spending time with you now,” Lexa mutters. This is also true, but again, it was not by choice. She had been walking towards the training grounds, where she spends her free time with Reed (Reed, who does not judge Lexa for the bags beneath her eyes, Reed who tells her about the horrors of war in soft whispers, as if she understands how Lexa feels—and she does) when Frieda had noticed her and called out to her. She and Costia had just finished their training session and were resting, while Lexa had just ambled around in the Commander’s garden, waiting for the training grounds to clear while immersing herself in the scent of the flowers and listening to Gustus’s newest lecture (“You are neglecting your duties,” she can still hear him telling her, and she <em>still </em>has no adequate response). Frieda opens her mouth, but Costia turns and gives her a sharp glare, making the girl sigh.</p><p>“I just remembered I have errands to run for Verda. I’ll just be leaving then.” Lexa and Costia do not respond, and with a final reluctant sigh, Frieda stalks off. After a second, Costia reaches out again (this time far more sure of herself), and takes Lexa’s hand in her own.</p><p>“It’s been three months, Lexa.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Costia squeezes Lexa’s hands and pulls her down so that they are sitting cross-legged on the grass, facing each other. For a moment, the other girl says nothing, her dark eyes roving Lexa’s face, studying her. Then she leans forward, her breath on Lexa’s face.</p><p> “It is all right not to be all right,” she says so softly that Lexa barely hears her. But she <em>does </em>hear her, and the words just make her heart thud painfully in her chest.  </p><p>“You don’t understand.”</p><p>“Your burden? Your pain? What you are going through? Because, no, I don’t.” The retort on the tip of Lexa’s tongue dies as she registers the last part of Costia’s comment. “I don’t understand, so you have to help me.”</p><p>“What do you want from me?”</p><p>“An admission that you are not all right for one.” Lexa looks down, staring intently at her hands. Without giving herself much time to think it through, pulls them out of Costia grasp and raises them.</p><p>“Look. Do you see it?” Costia just stares blankly at them.</p><p>“What I am supposed to be seeing?”</p><p>“The blood. Do you see the blood?”</p><p>“Lexa—”</p><p>“The Commander’s hands are <em>soaked </em>in the blood of the enemies she has slain for her people. And now so are mine.” With deliberate slowness, Costia reaches up and threads her fingers through Lexa’s, shaking her head all the while.</p><p>“Glen wasn’t an enemy. And your hands aren’t soaked in his blood.”</p><p>“I killed him.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Don’t you see the stains?”  </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then who takes responsibility for his death? Who is his death on?” Costia swallows, her eyes filling with tears.</p><p>“It was on him, Lexa. He ran when he should have stayed. He went against everything we believe in, and he was punished for his actions. His death was his own fault.” Costia, who wore her heart on her sleeve, who was never afraid of saying what she thought, is <em>lying. </em>She is lying, and Lexa can tell from the way Costia’s grip tightens on her fingers, from the way she averts her eyes, from the way tears roll down her cheeks.</p><p>“Do you think by lying and supporting me my sins will disappear?” Lexa asks softly. Costia does not respond immediately. For several seconds, Lexa is rather sure she will <em>not </em>respond at all. But then, with a heavy sigh, she meets Lexa’s gaze, biting her lip so hard that Lexa fears she will draw blood.</p><p>“Yes,” she says firmly, and though Lexa wants to argue, Costia never gives her the chance to voice her complaints aloud. “You belong to your people,” she says, her eyes becoming hard. “But I will not let them break you.”</p><p>Despite Costia’s words (or perhaps because of them), Lexa feels her heart break anyway.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Pay attention, Lexa. This is important.” Lexa nearly rolls her eyes.</p><p>“There is a real conflict to our north, yet you have not spoken at all about it. Why waste time on invented ones?” Gustus raises his eyebrows, looking far more amused than Lexa thinks he has any right to look. Without speaking, he begins to gather the papers littering the table, then leans forward, resting on his elbows, and studies her with the smallest of smiles.</p><p>“You are usually not so difficult.”</p><p>“I am usually doing something worthwhile.”</p><p>“You don’t think this is worthwhile?” He is grinning now, not even bothering to hide his amusement, and Lexa grumbles incoherently under her breath. “You are learning.”</p><p>“I am reviewing things I learned long ago.”</p><p>“Prove it then, Lexa. Tell me what you would do.” She sighs, crosses her arms over her chest, and rolls her eyes.</p><p>“I would let them all die.” Gustus’s eyes immediately narrow, his cheerful expression gone.</p><p>“You should take this seriously.” Lexa sits up straighter, her turn to raise her eyebrows.</p><p>“I am, Gustus. You said it yourself, remember? I must be ruthless and help as many as I can to survive. So I would let the village be wiped out by the disease. I would not send healers or aid. With nothing to infect, the disease would die out and the rest of my people would be safe.”</p><p>“What if the disease does not kill, only maims?”</p><p>“Then I will finish the job.” Gustus stares at her for a moment then laughs, the sound gruff and mirthless.</p><p>“Sometimes being good is not an option. So you remember.” He shakes his head, and for whatever reason, he seems disappointed. “Very well. You wish to discuss the conflict to our north. What do you want to know?”</p><p>“Why are the Desert Clan and Ice Nation at odds? Why does the Commander not send warriors to our borders should there be retaliation for what happened? Why—” Gustus chuckles, holding up his hands.</p><p>“Slow down, child. One question at a time.” Lexa clamps her mouth shut, staring at him expectantly, waiting. After a chuckle, Gustus digs through his pocket and pulls out a handful of dried fruits. He hands it to her with a grin, and Lexa—after a moment of contemplating being difficult on purpose—accepts the treat with a huff that just makes Gustus laugh again. “The Ice Nation and Desert Clan share a problem. Can you think of what that problem may be?” Lexa chews on a dried apple slice, thinking hard.</p><p>“Food?” she finally guesses. Gustus nods.</p><p>“Yes, child. The Ice Nation and Desert Clan both have infertile soil as well as weather that makes it difficult to grow crops. There is nearly always a shortage of food.”</p><p>“But if they share this—”</p><p>“Remember their locations. The Ice Nation is further to the north, and while they have no food, there is an abundance of water from rain. The Desert Clan suffers from a lack of water, but they also nearly completely surround the Ice Nation’s southern border, meaning that—”</p><p>“—in order to get food to the Ice Nation, it must pass through the Desert Clan’s lands,” Lexa finishes for him, nodding.</p><p>“The Ice Nation’s Queen and the Desert Clan’s Chief made a treaty of sorts many years ago. The Ice Nation provides water, and in return, the Desert Clan allows safe passage of food from the south, from the <em>Trikru </em>and the Boat Clan.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Queen Nia has expanded her borders since the agreement with the Desert Clan was made. With land that makes growing crops a possibility, she does not need the Desert Clan’s aid, and so she pushes into their land as well.” He flips through the papers distractedly, frowning deeply. “The Queen desires power. She cut off water to the Desert Clan, demanding that they send more food. Their agreement is fragile as it is, and of course, the Chief of the Desert Clan took this as an act of war.” He hands over more fruit, noticing that Lexa has finished the handful he gave her earlier. “Since the Commander came into power, we’ve been at peace with Queen Nia. We fight in their wars and they fight in ours. But <em>heda </em>has decided we will remain neutral in this conflict.”</p><p> “But the Desert Clan provides medicines. And the Ice Nation gives us furs.”</p><p>“Yes, but <em>heda </em>believes it is best we make do without them until this conflict ends. She does not want to take sides and potentially be thrust into a three-front war.”  </p><p>“A three-front war? Only the Valley People continue to have skirmishes to our west.” Gustus smiles, placing his hand on top of Lexa’s head.</p><p>“You forget the <em>Maunon</em>, child. As long as they are to the south, on any given day, we will be fighting at least a two-front war.”</p><p>“But that is true of everyone. The Boat Clan, the Desert Clan, the Valley People, even the Ice Nation.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then why waste time with each other? Why not eliminate the <em>Maunon</em>?” Gustus removes the comforting weigh on Lexa’s head, leaning closer to her, his eyes full of a seriousness they have lacked for most of the lesson.</p><p>“Because the <em>Maunon </em>would eliminate us first, child.” He straightens and clears his throat. “That is why <em>heda </em>cannot send men to the north. She must—”</p><p>“—be ruthless and help as many as she can to survive. More live near Polis than near our borders to the Ice Nation, and she cannot leave us unprotected. I understand.” Gustus nods approvingly, handing her the last bit of the dried fruit, but suddenly, the treat has lost all its appeal.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>When she sees him, her heart nearly stops.</p><p>Costia is chattering away about something—Lexa stopped listening minutes ago, when she realized this was something Costia had spoken about at depth before—and Lexa is amusing herself by counting the number of times Anya rolls her eyes Costia’s comments. The streets of Polis are far more crowded than usual, an influx of people from the north filling the city. And that is where she sees him, nearly hidden among the crowd in the street, his almost-white hair standing out amongst the sea of various shades of brown. The front of his clothes is bloody and dark, his mouth curled into a sneer he never wore when alive.</p><p>It is Glen.</p><p>Lexa stops walking, shaking from head to toe, ignoring the people bumping into her, mumbling under their breath as they walk by. In the moment it takes for Anya and Costia to realize Lexa is no longer walking with them and turn around, Lexa has managed to school her features, hide the fact that she has broken into a cold sweat. And when the three of them walk by the spot Glen is standing, his eyes fixed on Lexa, cruel and dark, Lexa swallows and frantically quells the urge to sob.</p><p>(She wakes at that point, drenched in sweat and shaking. She wakes, and Anya is not sleeping by her bedside, but studying her, the strangest expression on her candlelit face.)</p><p>“I am fine,” Lexa mutters, accepting the glass of water Anya hands her. For a whole minute, Anya merely watches as Lexa sips gratefully at the cool liquid. Then, she blows out the candle.</p><p>“I would be more worried if that were true, my little <em>heda</em>-to-be,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Lexa! Lexa! Open your door! There is news!” Lexa shuffles over to do as she is told, shocked when Frieda launches herself at her, holding onto her shoulders as if she cannot hold herself up.</p><p>“Are you all right?” Frieda nods frantically, her breathing coming quickly and harshly, like she has just run for miles.</p><p>“A large group of warriors from a small village to the north are arriving today. They sent scouts ahead,” she says, still breathless and still using Lexa to hold herself up. “The Ice Nation has invaded our land!”</p><p>“What village?”</p><p>“No one would say. But the Commander wants you in the war room immediately. She sent me for you.” Without another word, Lexa pulls out of Frieda’s grasp and takes off running, laughing as Frieda shouts, “I expect you to tell me everything!”</p><p>When she makes it to the war room, only slightly out of breath, Wennin is the one standing guard. He gives her a tiny smile, gesturing to her sash, and she hurriedly straightens it around her waist, mumbling a thank you. Before he opens the door, Wennin squeezes her shoulder gently, then pats her back (indicating for her to stand a little taller before entering). When she enters the war room, she immediately goes to her spot next to the left of  the Commander. Gustus offers her his customary smile and Anya nods at her, but the other generals mostly ignore her (except for Grenda, who scowls). Titus however, gives her a searching look from the Commander’s other side and then, impossibly, bows his head slightly in respect.</p><p>“You are right on time,” the Commander says. “The brave warrior who has brought us this news is from your village, Lexa. His name is Rox.” She gestures to the other side of the table, and there, older, tanner, larger, with a long beard, is Lexa’s brother. He is practically unrecognizable except for his eyes, his eyes that he inherited from their mother, his eyes that are an exact replica of her own. There is a second that Lexa forgets herself—she forgets who she is, where she is, how serious the situation is—and she wants to cry out, to rush to him and wrap her arms around him, hug the brother that she has not seen for five years. And she can tell, from the wide-eyed look on his face, his mouth hanging slightly open, he has forgotten himself as well. Lexa swallows, averts her eyes, and nods at her Commander, and to her ultimate relief, Rox follows her lead.</p><p>“Shall I begin, <em>heda</em>?” Rox asks, his English perfect, not at all the strangled, stiff way he spoke after first becoming a second. The Commander nods without looking at him, her eyes on Lexa instead, a ghost of a smile on her face, and Rox begins to speak. “Less than a week ago, there were rumors that the Ice Queen was amassing an army outside her palace.”</p><p>“Lies,” hisses Grenda, shaking her head. “The Queen wouldn’t dare continue expanding her borders, not when <em>heda</em>told her we would not tolerate it.” Rox nods, as if he expected such a comment.</p><p>“Yes, so we sent scouts, to confirm the news.” He pauses, his eyes resting momentarily on Lexa before focusing again on the Commander. “The Ice Queen <em>is </em>amassing an army, and what’s more, has met with the Desert Clan’s Chief, to make peace with him.”</p><p>“That easily?” Gustus mutters, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“They have come up with a new deal, <em>heda</em>,” Rox continues, ignoring Gustus’s comment. “They wish to invade our land together, end their dependence on us for food.”</p><p>“And we invited them in,” the Commander says, leaning forward and resting on her knuckles. “Invited them when I called back our warriors to protect my people in case the Desert Clan retaliated.” Silence meets her words, everyone staring at the Commander, waiting for her decision (waiting to be told what to do). In that moment, it is like a weight has settled on the Commander’s back, bending her further forward, rendering her incapable of standing on her own power. She leans even more onto the table. “It seems Nia has made her choice,” she says softly, almost as if she is speaking only to herself. “If she wishes war,” she continues, voice growing stronger, “then we will go to war, and we will see which one of us is more capable of waging it.”</p><p> “And the <em>Maunon</em>?” Verda asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Ice Nation does not need to worry about an attack from behind their lands as we do.”</p><p>“And there are the Valley People as well,” Titus adds unhelpfully. “They will be all too glad to take advantage of this.” The Commander opens her mouth to respond when Lexa surprises herself and everyone else by speaking.</p><p>“We could ask the Boat Clan for help.” Grenda’s eyes immediately narrow, Titus frowns thoughtfully, Gustus looks curious, and Anya cracks a grin, but Lexa’s focus is on the Commander, who is being frustratingly silent.</p><p>“Explain,” Gustus prods, and Lexa swallows, looking around the table and meeting Rox’s eyes for a moment before plowing on.</p><p>“The Desert Clan and Ice Nation will still need food from somewhere. We should speak with Luna. Since she has taken over, the Boat Clan has kept to itself. But she would help. Her people need our lumber. It is in her <em>interest </em>to help.” Anya’s grin widens slightly, as if she is reluctantly impressed, and Lexa feels flushed with pride. She is about to add more when the Commander straightens, her eyes hard.</p><p>“That is not our way.”</p><p>“But <em>heda</em>—”</p><p>“I said it is <em>not </em>our way, Lexa. Do you understand?” Lexa blinks at the harsh tone, but otherwise does not react. She nods in acceptance and the Commander looks around the table. “We will begin planning our war tomorrow. When I am done, the Ice Queen will regret the day she dared think of invading <em>Trigedakru </em>lands.” The others nod and begin to shuffle out, but when Lexa makes to follow them, the Commander grabs her by the arm. “Stay, Lexa. We must speak.” They stand there silently until the last person is gone (Anya, who gives Lexa a sympathetic smile), and then the Commander collapses into a chair, rubbing her eyes.</p><p>“I am sorry for speaking out of turn, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“No, you misunderstand. I am not upset because you spoke up.” She sighs, her hands dropping to her lap, the saddest expression Lexa has ever seen making an appearance on her face. “Alliances are risky, Lexa. The relationship we have with the Boat Clan is tenuous at best. Asking Luna for help would mean making ourselves vulnerable. She might decide to help the Ice Nation instead.”</p><p>“But if we don’t ask for help, hundreds of people will die.” The Commander nods, clearly worn.</p><p>“We cannot afford to trust anyone with alliances. Look at how easily our ties to the Ice Nation were severed, how easily Queen Nia turns her back on those she no longer needs. An alliance could prove fatal. We are fighting a two-front war on any given day—when that changes, so can we.” She suddenly smiles, almost as if she managed to physically push away all her worries, even if it was for just a moment. “Now go. Say hello to your brother. I’m sure you must be excited to see him again.”</p><p>“You knew?” The Commander grins.</p><p>“Of course I did. And you did well not to react. Remember—”</p><p>“—your desires will always be used against you. Yes <em>heda</em>, I know.” The Commander smiles, her eyes considerably softer than before, but she is silent. It is when Lexa turns to leave when the Commander finally speaks up.</p><p>“You will be great, you know. As <em>heda</em>,” she adds unnecessarily. “When your Spirit passes on, there will not be a single child who doesn’t know your name, of that I’m entirely sure.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“You have grown,” Rox says, smiling at her. He is sitting at her desk, his eyes roving the room, an impressed look on his face. “And you seem to be very well-treated.”</p><p>“They claim I am the <em>heda</em>-to-be.”</p><p>“Claim?”</p><p>“Sometimes…” She trails off, shaking her head. <em>Not even Rox</em>, she reminds herself. <em>Not even him</em>. “There are others. I may not be the one.” Rox nods, either not noticing her pause or not caring. Lexa cannot decide which is worse.</p><p>“Would it be bad if I wished you were not the one?” he asks with a grin. Lexa laughs, surprised at his question, but mostly glad for his presence, relieved that he is real, breathing, and sitting in her room as if no time has passed at all.</p><p>“How are Tris and father?” Rox’s grin fades.</p><p>“Tris is fine. She is with me.” He smiles widely, as if trying to make up for his slip, but it is too late: Lexa feels dread pool in her stomach. “She is very much like you. If…” He shrugs, not needing to finish his sentence (“She is very much like you. <em>If you hadn’t left. If you never became </em>heda-<em>to-be</em>. <em>If nothing had changed.</em>”)</p><p>“And father?”</p><p>“Lexa—”</p><p>“I want you to say it.” It is an order—there is no mistaking her tone—and for a moment, Rox is nothing but shocked, his mouth gaping, his eyes widening comically. But then he inclines his head (she is wearing the sash, the sash that marks her as different—different, even, with her brother).</p><p>“His fight is over.” Other than rapidly blinking away the tears that immediately spring to her eyes, Lexa refuses to react. She will not show weakness (<em>not even to Rox, not even to him)</em>.</p><p>“I have missed you, Rox,” Lexa finally says when she feels she can trust her voice not to betray her emotions. Rox smiles, and it is as if they have gone back in time—to when she was six and met the Commander for the first time—because his look is sad and knowing, his smile heartbreaking.</p><p>“I miss my little sister every day,” he says. Lexa blinks several times in quick succession, but she does not react. She does not show weakness—not even to her brother.</p><p>(“<em>Sometimes</em>,” she wanted so desperately to tell him, “<em>sometimes, I feel as if I am nothing at all.” </em>And she has never felt it as strongly as she does now.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>He chases her.</p><p>Lexa weaves through the trees, avoiding fallen branches and large roots, her heart racing. She knows she must get away, she knows she must flee. She cannot escape him otherwise—he is everywhere, watching her, judging her, <em>hating </em>her, for what she did to him. And she understands. She even accepts the anger.</p><p>But she wants nothing more than to escape him.</p><p>She continues running, startled when she reaches a clearing, the sudden sunlight glaring into the woods blinding her. Lexa slows to a walk, shielding her eyes from the sun with her forearm, when she feels him finally catch up to her. Blood drips from the wound on his chest, his eyes wide and uncomprehending as he grasps blindly at her, tugging on the sash around her waist, pulling on her shirt form behind and choking her.</p><p>“I am <em>sorry</em>,” Lexa cries, terrified, tears running down her cheeks. “I’m so <em>sorry</em>, Glen. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to kill you.” She stops fighting him, stops trying to wrest out of his grasp. “It was my fault, I should have paid attention, I should have fought harder for you.” She feels her shirt being released, and she turns around wildly.</p><p>Glen is standing there, but there is no blood. A small smile graces his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling (Lexa did not know it did that when he smiled, but then, she had barely known him. And that was his reward, for meeting the <em>heda</em>-to-be. He got to die for a girl he barely knew). Lexa closes her eyes. “I’m so <em>sorry,” </em>she repeats, but when she opens her eyes, Glen is gone, the clearing is dark, a funeral pyre burning away.</p><p>“Saving lives is much more important than taking them, Lexa.” She looks around wildly, searching for the source of the voice.</p><p>“Mother?” she calls, recognizing the words. “Mother?”</p><p>“She is gone.” Lexa twirls around, staring into the cold, hard grey eyes of the Commander. “And I will be gone soon as well, <em>goufa</em>.” Lexa steps forward, reaching out to her <em>heda</em>, but the woman disappears, the world goes back, and Lexa wakes, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but in her own bed.</p><p>Without waking Anya (who has taken up residence in Lexa’s room, to “keep an eye on her”), Lexa pulls on her shoes and sneaks out of her bedroom, heading straight towards the Commander’s garden in order to be alone and get some fresh air. Unfortunately, when she arrives, there is someone already there.</p><p>The Commander does not speak, not even bothering to look at Lexa as she steps forward and sits down next to her on the grass. After a moment, she shifts just a little so that she leans against the Commander’s arm, wordlessly asking for comfort she knows the Commander cannot give. To her ultimate surprise, the Commander allows it, even leans into it, as if she wants to make Lexa more comfortable. “The hanging vine, <em>heda,</em>” Lexa asks softly, “why is it called that?”</p><p>“They say that after the world ended, men and women were driven mad with the pain. So they made ropes out of the vine and hung themselves.” She turns to look at Lexa oddly. “I have told you this story before. During one of our dinners.”</p><p>“I know. It’s just…” <em>Not even Rox</em>, she reminds herself. Never admit weakness to <em>anyone</em>. “You have said these flowers bloom for me. Does that mean I will hang?” Her voice is impossibly quiet by the end of her question, unable to believe she spoke her fears aloud, unable to believe she admitted such a weakness to her Commander. (“<em>You need not hide from me. I know you are anything but weak,</em>” her Commander once said. This is a test, Lexa decides. A test for her <em>heda</em>. A test for the Commander.)</p><p>“Oh child,” the Commander says, shaking her head immediately. “No, of course not.” Lexa watches how <em>heda’s </em>lips twitch slightly, as if she is fighting a frown. But there is no disappointment, no judging, no anger in her voice as she speaks. “I meant that you bring beauty to the world. That my stench will be hidden by your sweetness. Do you understand?” She reaches out with her free hand and places it on Lexa’s head, the gentle weight so comfortable that Lexa’s eyes flutter close. “You are my salvation.”</p><p>“I am nothing, <em>heda</em>,” she whispers, eyes still closed. “I cannot even escape Glen’s ghost.”</p><p>“No, Lexa, you misunderstand. It is <em>because </em>he haunts you that you are the rain.” When Lexa opens her eyes, the Commander’s frown is far more pronounced, staring Lexa down, not allowing her to break eye contact. “He will always haunt you,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “And that is your burden to bear.” Lexa nods, shifting once more so that her head is on the Commander’s shoulder, wondering if she is pushing her luck. But once again, <em>heda </em>allows it, shifting only to ensure that Lexa fits more easily against her side. “Anya tells me you are having trouble sleeping,” she says after a long silence, pulling away—wordlessly and kindly letting Lexa know that a moment like this was fleeting, was utterly extraordinary, and was a moment that would likely never happen again.</p><p>“Nightmares.”</p><p>“I see,” she murmurs. Without warning, she shifts, moving so that she is sitting right across from Lexa, the knees of her crossed legs just barely brushing Lexa’s. “In the months before I became Commander,” she says, straightening her back and closing her eyes, “our people were both in the midst of a terrible war and facing a deadly disease.” She rests her hands on her knees, palms up, and a serene expression forms on her face. “Many died, Lexa, and their faces plagued my dreams. I could not sleep, I could not eat, sometimes it felt as if I could barely breathe.” Lexa swallows, eyes roving over the Commander’s face, subconsciously mimicking her posture. “When I became Commander, the dreams ceased, but as our people grew restless—tired of the war, tired of the disease—I could not sleep out of fear of something else entirely.”</p><p>“What was it, <em>heda</em>?” Lexa asks, her voice barely above a whisper, feeling as though this moment—the words that wash over her—could fall apart and break should she disturb the peace around them.</p><p>“The previous Commanders began to speak to me, their voices overlapping, some angry at my choices, others advocating peace, while most told me that I was a mistake.”</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p><p>“I made many questionable decisions in my first few years as Commander,” she continues, speaking over Lexa. “Many I now regret. But there is one decision I believe was for the best.” Her eyes open suddenly, locking onto Lexa almost immediately. “I learned to quiet the Commanders.”</p><p>“But <em>heda</em>, Titus claims we must listen to them, ask for advice, that that is what makes the Commander special.”</p><p>“He protects the Cycle and the Spirit, but he has never carried it,” the Commander says, shrugging off Lexa’s worries easily. “The previous Commanders have never offered advice or aid. They offer their experiences, and only if you ask.” She frowns, shaking her head just slightly. “Sometimes it feels as if…as if the Spirit is less of a guide and more of…a precaution.” She frowns again, tilting her head as if listening to something only she can hear, and Lexa wonders if right now the Spirit is warning the Commander, telling her to stop talking. “As if the previous Commanders are there to stop us from acting rather than to advise us on our choices.”</p><p>“Is that why you silenced them?”</p><p>“Oh no. They were never silenced—not entirely. I can hear them whisper, and some nights those whispers become loud, become worse than any nightmare I’ve faced. Not because they have seen things worse than I have, but because in my dreams I face not only my fears, but the fears of every Commander before me.”</p><p>“But you can keep them quiet?”</p><p>“Yes,” she says, reaching forward to take Lexa’s hands. She places them on Lexa’s knees, palms facing the sky, and she motions for Lexa to sit a little taller. “By keeping your mind clear, by breathing deeply and evenly, the voices turn into something no more than a hum, and you can avoid the nightmares.”</p><p>“Any nightmare, <em>heda</em>?” Lexa asks, knowing she sounds like a child and not caring.</p><p>“Learn to clear your mind, Lexa” the Commander says softly, the smile on her lips sad. “Being <em>heda </em>means you must stand on the shoulders of the ghosts that haunt you without being overcome by them.” Lexa studies her, notices how she avoids answering the question, and she nods carefully, ignoring the clear dismissal in the Commander’s tone, pushing her luck yet again—taking advantage of the Commander’s rare show of softness.</p><p>“Would it be all right if I stayed with you a little bit longer, <em>heda</em>?” she asks, avoiding the Commander’s inquisitive eyes as they rove over her face (as if she is searching for what exactly Lexa is so afraid of). The Commander is silent for so long that Lexa is sure she will say no, is even preparing for it, but then she feels a gentle hand on the top of her head.</p><p>“The war with the Ice Nation has made it difficult for me to oversee your training, Lexa,” she says, once again not answering Lexa’s question—though this time it is to spare her the embarrassment of having been weak rather than stemming from a desire to avoid a lie. “We are overdue on a review lesson. Let’s begin with the three pillars.”</p><p>When she finally does go back to bed, she closes her eyes, clears her mind, and evens out her breathing. And for the first time since killing Glen, she gets the rest she so desperately needs.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: worst thing about quarantine is that you think you have all day to do a thing but then suddenly it's tomorrow and you reassure yourself by thinking future you will get it done, but future you is just as unmotivated as present you. and the cycle repeats itself. and you may end up not graduating because future you and present you suck, but the only one who gives a damn is past you and no one cares what she thinks anymore. also I'm posting this while a tinsy bit drunk so forgive me for that</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their lands have been violated, ravaged, burned, left in ruins. Their people’s blood soaks the soil, drips from the sky when it rains. Orphans fill the streets of Polis, and though having children is an honor, there are very few remaining who can receive it. (This is what losing a war feels like, Gustus told Lexa in confidence one afternoon, before they had set out to meet the Commander, the two of them eating some sort of dried meat. Food is scarce, everything redirected to their armies, and even the thin, salty slabs of meat are better than nothing at all.)</p>
<p>The Commander left Polis long before they did, waging war as only she knew how—a desperate desire to show the Ice Queen the might of the <em>Trikru </em>consuming her entire being, filling her with an unquenchable thirst for the Queen’s blood. <em>Jus drein jus daun</em>, she wrote to Lexa while they were separated, <em>and I will suck the Ice Nation dry</em>.</p>
<p>This has come true—to an extent. War has been costly for both sides, so costly in fact, that the Desert Clan is in shambles, their people flocking to the east, hoping to find shelter and safety. But now, after months of fighting, of war, of drowning in the blood of their enemy, it has become clear to Lexa that <em>heda </em>will not be satisfied, that her <em>heda </em>has been utterly transformed by the threat to her people. (Slowly, the nightmares that the Commanderhad all but chased away return, but rather than being haunted by Glen, it is the new and transformed <em>heda </em>that marks her dreams, a <em>heda </em>that Lexa is rather sure she is destined to become—“To be the Commander, Lexa, you must lose yourself,” the Commander tells her one night, worn and weary after a day of fighting and battle plans, and Lexa can only nod.)   </p>
<p>Things are bleak, their people are dying, and more and more, it is to Costia that Lexa turns—to Costia for comfort, for security, for the light feeling in the pit of her stomach that she has never experienced before, yet craves. Anya, still watching her despite the war, notices this change very quickly.</p>
<p>“You like her,” she accuses one night, bursting into Lexa’s tent (it is not actually Lexa’s tent—she shares it with Frieda and Costia, because not even the <em>heda</em>-to-be gets special treatment during war).</p>
<p>“Like who?”</p>
<p>“The girl. The one who asks too many questions.”</p>
<p>“She has a name,” Lexa says patiently, smiling slightly at her mentor. “And she has not asked questions in years.” Anya’s eyes narrow and she shakes her head, the warpaint and blood streaking her face making her look rabid. (Lexa assumes this is a look they all share, for she wears warpaint for the first time too—the only difference is that she has not yet killed in the heat of battle and is not coated in blood.)</p>
<p>“You did not answer me.”</p>
<p>“There wasn’t a question, Anya.” Her mentor purses her lips, a cross between disappointment and annoyance and perhaps a bit of amusement flitting across her face.</p>
<p>“I have known you for half your life, Lexa. Do you think I don’t know when you’re trying to avoid a conversation?”</p>
<p>“I’m not avoiding anything, Anya,” Lexa says, raising an eyebrow and hiding a smirk. She watches as Anya mirrors her expression. “Costia is a fellow second.”</p>
<p>“You spend time with her, more than with the others.” Lexa draws herself up to her full height, shocked when she realizes she is only a few inches shorter than her mentor.</p>
<p>“Just say it, Anya.”</p>
<p>“You like her, Lexa, and not just as a fellow second, and not just as a friend.” She steps forward, opening her mouth as if readying herself to lecture Lexa, but this is a conversation Lexa has already had with Gustus, and she is not keen on having it again.</p>
<p>“I haven’t neglected my duties since Gustus caught me two days ago, so if that’s what this is about—”</p>
<p>“Speak true, Lexa, do you love the girl?” Lexa blinks, shocked not only by the directedness of the question, but by the small grin on Anya’s face as she asks it—as if this was something she expected all along and was thrilled to be proven right.  </p>
<p>“I do not love Costia.”</p>
<p>“Lexa—”</p>
<p>“In case you haven’t noticed, Anya, we are in the middle of a war. I know better.” Anya looks like she wants to argue, so Lexa shakes her head quickly, speaking up once more. “Trust that I know better than to risk so much on <em>feelings</em>.” There is a moment—just a split second—that Lexa thinks she has bested her mentor, that for once Anya would just <em>listen </em>to her. But the moment is gone quickly, and Anya shakes her head, looking as if she is about to laugh.</p>
<p>“You have grown, Lexa,” she says softly, stepping forward and brushing back Lexa’s hair (the gesture is comforting, even <em>motherly</em>, and Lexa stills, unsure what she has done to make Anya act this way). “But not nearly enough. And I can’t have you sounding like a lovesick child in front of <em>heda</em>. Have we trained today?”</p>
<p>“I <em>just </em>cleaned the mud out of my hair, Anya.”</p>
<p>“Stop arguing, my little <em>heda</em>-to-be. I’ll just make training last longer.” With one last smile, Anya’s thumb brushes against Lexa’s cheek, and then she steps away, forcing Lexa to dutifully follow (though she does so with a loud groan).  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Heda, </em>our warriors cannot continue this way!” Lexa blinks at the tone—one she has not heard directed at the Commander, ever—but <em>heda </em>looks unaffected. “They have not slept in days, most of them have lost their seconds. This is <em>not </em>a war, it is a massacre!”</p>
<p>“And what is the difference?” Verda asks, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Grenda. “What choice do we have? Surrender and allow the Ice Queen to take our lands? To kill us all?”</p>
<p>“At this rate, we will die anyway,” Grenda spits, clenching her fists. She turns back to the Commander, shaking her head furiously. “We are losing this war because we are spread too thin.” Gustus snorts in response.</p>
<p>“And what would you have <em>heda </em>do? Bring our warriors from the south? The ones who defend us from potential attacks from the <em>Maunon</em>? Or perhaps we leave our other borders open? This is a three-front war, Grenda, as you very well know,” he says.</p>
<p>“We could send word to Titus, tell him to send the warriors who remain at Polis,” Verda suggests, but Gustus barely has time to shake his head before Grenda leans forward, her hand coming down hard on the table.”</p>
<p>“It would not be a three-front war had we given the Ice Nation what they wanted. We all knew that the Desert Clan was comparatively weak. We should have just supported the Ice Queen and fought in her quick and bloodless war.”</p>
<p>“In case you haven’t noticed, the Desert Clan still fights for the Ice Queen. As for quick and bloodless—who do you believe is to blame for the carnage we deal with now? This is the Ice Queen’s folly, this is her doing, and believing that following her would have meant anything different for our people makes you just as big a fool as the Queen,” Verda points out, obviously close to rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>“But the Desert Clan’s numbers are few. Even if we had only assisted in the Queen’s bid for more farming land, we would have—” But Verda is clearly no longer willing to listen, and she begins to shout over Grenda’s comments. Soon enough, the other generals join in, each of them lending their voices to the chaotic cacophony, and Lexa can do nothing but stare at these men and women—who she once found strong and impressive—reduce themselves to nothing but a puddle of fear and desperation.</p>
<p>“Enough.” It is a wonder that the single word, said so softly, is heard at all. But the effect is instantaneous: Everyone—even Grenda—falls silent. “Squabbling like children will get us nowhere,” the Commander says, standing tall. She alone is calm, she alone exudes patience and fearlessness.</p>
<p>She alone knows what she is doing.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda, </em>perhaps it is in our favor to retreat,” Grenda says, swallowing hard at the glare she receives in response.</p>
<p>“No. A retreat would merely invite the Ice Queen further into our lands. I will not do it.”</p>
<p>“But it would gives us time to come up with a defense. To have warriors—”</p>
<p>“—unless your plan for defense involves something <em>other </em>than the warriors protecting our other borders and Polis, I don’t want to hear it.” A silence follows the Commander’s words, and Lexa knows what that means: They have no other ideas, no other plans. Lexa stares at the Commander’s face, takes note of the weariness that lines her face—a weariness she is far too young to be experiencing—and she finds herself speaking.</p>
<p>“We could ask for help.” Grenda lets out a scathing snort, rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda </em>has already explained that that is <em>not </em>our way,” she says, but the Commander is eyeing Lexa curiously, so Lexa ignores Grenda and continues to speak.</p>
<p>“All of you heard what our scouts said—Luna is preparing for war. She knows as well as we do that once we fall, the Boat Clan will follow. Right now, we are all that stands between her and the Ice Nation’s army.”</p>
<p>“What would you do, Lexa?” the Commander asks, turning to face her completely, one eyebrow raised.</p>
<p>“We ask the Boat Clan for help. Warriors, healers, anyone they can spare. And the warriors who defend our borders with the Boat Clan would no longer be needed there—”</p>
<p>“—so we can call them here,” Verda finishes for her, nodding. “But alliances are risky. What would stop Luna from offering us to the Ice Queen in return for a truce? We would be making ourselves vulnerable.” Lexa swallows at the way everyone stares at her, waiting for her response, suddenly expecting <em>her </em>to have all the answers.</p>
<p>“It wouldn’t matter. If we don’t ask for help, we will lose this war. This is the only thing that gives us any sort of chance.” Many of the generals begin nodding, murmuring their agreement, but Lexa has eyes only for the Commander, the Commander who has her eyes closed, her lips twisted into the beginnings of a frown.</p>
<p>“Even if I were willing to make such an alliance, I could not go. My people need me here, to protect them,” she says, her eyes opening and focusing on Lexa. “I am sorry, child, but—”</p>
<p>“—send me,” Lexa interrupts, her voiced laced with desperation. “You can’t go, so send me.”</p>
<p>“You are a <em>child</em>,” Grenda snarls.</p>
<p>“I am the <em>heda</em>-to-be!”</p>
<p>“You have not yet gotten through the Conclave, you are <em>nothing</em>!” Lexa feels a sudden shift in the room—she can feel the anger of the Commander, but most importantly, she can feel how the others wait with bated breath, watching to see the outcome of this challenge (because Lexa is the <em>heda</em>-to-be, the Commander has stated it to be so, and though Lexa is allowed to be doubtful—is allowed to fear that she is not the one at all—the generals and advisors do not have that same luxury; to reject the successor is to reject the Commander’s word).</p>
<p>“And what have <em>you </em>done, Grenda?” Lexa asks, her voice soft. This is a trick she learned from the Commander—never show your anger, never show your feelings, never show <em>anything</em>. “You were the first to desire war, the first to wish to rush in, and now you’re the first to suggest we run, flee like cowards. You, Grenda, have not had one good idea since the Ice Nation attacked.” The woman’s face turns red, but Lexa is not done. “You contradict everything, yet you give nothing. You argue and disagree, but have yet to provide a sensible alternative.” She steps closer to the woman, her head held high, imitating the Commander—quelling the feelings of inadequacy, knowing that they have no place in war. “This is <em>my </em>plan, <em>my </em>idea. And I will be the one to see it through.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” Grenda says, ignoring Lexa completely and turning to the Commander, “you cannot possibly consider—”</p>
<p>“Are you questioning <em>my </em>leadership?” she asks, her voice steady, calm, dangerous.</p>
<p>“No, of course not, <em>heda</em>. But—”</p>
<p>“<em>Enough</em>.” Grenda hangs her head, cowed, and the Commander turns to Lexa, eyeing her carefully. “I still believe this is a bad idea, Lexa. But I trust your judgment. You will go in my stead. I cannot spare more than a dozen warriors to go with you, I need as many as I can to hold off the Ice Nation until you bring reinforcements.” Lexa, hands shaking because the Commander has put implicit trust in her in front of all the generals—in front Grenda—shakes her head.</p>
<p>“I don’t need a dozen warriors. Just Anya.” Anya grins widely, not bothering to hide it. “We need to move quickly, a large group couldn’t do that.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but you need protection,” Gustus protests. “I can accompany you as well.”</p>
<p>“And me,” Verda says, turning to the Commander. “I will accompany the <em>heda</em>-to-be with my second.” The Commander nods.</p>
<p>“Very well. Verda, Anya, Gustus, go prepare. You set out at first light.” She coughs into her hand, the sound rattling and jarring, and though she stares at her hand oddly for a moment, she waves Gustus off when he offers her his waterskin, turning to Lexa instead. “I wish to speak with you alone.” Lexa nods, and follows her Commander out of the tent, keeping her head down as they walk slowly through the camp. “I don’t like this plan, Lexa,” she finally says when they are a distance away from the nearest tent, hidden amongst a cluster of trees, their voices drowned out by the sound of crackling fires and the clang of weapons.</p>
<p>“I know, <em>heda</em>.” It is dark, and Lexa cannot see the Commander’s expression, so she is shocked when the woman pulls her into an embrace, holding her tightly.</p>
<p>“You must be careful, child,” she says softly, pulling away slightly. Lexa can feel the Commander’s gaze, and she nearly buckles beneath its weight. “I fear you have underestimated the risk you are taking.”</p>
<p>“I’ll get Luna to agree. This will work, <em>heda</em>.” The Commander laughs, pulling Lexa into another hug.</p>
<p>“My dear child,” she says, her grip tightening just a tad, “that is not what I meant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Costia finds her as she is packing the last of her things.</p>
<p>“So it’s true,” she says without preamble, walking over to Lexa’s right, staring at the rucksack with a distasteful glint in her eyes. “You’re leaving.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Lexa notices the worry on Costia’s face, so she hurries to elaborate. “It’s safe, and it will be quick. You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”</p>
<p>“Frieda is going with you.”</p>
<p>“Because she’s Verda’s second.”</p>
<p>“Take me too.”</p>
<p>“I can’t. <em>Heda </em>would never allow it. Besides, five people is already too many.” Costia stares at her, her expression going from desperate to terrified to determined in the span of seconds.</p>
<p>“You <em>must </em>be careful,” she says, echoing the Commander’s words (yet unlike the Commander’s words, which filled Lexa with warmth, grounded her and kept her safe, Costia’s concern does something else entirely—it gives her a bubbly, swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach, it makes her head spin, causes her heart to race, leaves her feeling as if she is walking on air). “You <em>must` </em>come back, do you understand me?”</p>
<p>“Is that an order, Costia?” Lexa jokes, untying the sash around her waist and stuffing it into her bag—there would be no use for it as they traveled. When Costia does not respond, Lexa looks up curiously, shocked when she notices the girl is far closer than she was before, that determined look still in her eye.</p>
<p>“It is,” she answers, and Lexa—a force of habit, she is sure—begins to count the light freckles on Costia’s nose, smiles at the soft, dark curls of her hair, listens to the comforting and familiar sound of her even breathing. For the first time, however, she also notices Costia’s lips, how inviting they are, and she suddenly is filled with the desperation and need to know if they are as soft as they seem…</p>
<p>“I am the <em>heda</em>-to-be<em>, </em>you can’t order me about,” Lexa mutters, somehow unable to avert her eyes from Costia’s lips. She is simultaneously too close and too far, and Lexa idly wonders if her heart should be beating as fast or as hard as it is. But before Lexa can ask the healer’s daughter if this is normal, Costia leans forward and presses her inviting, soft lips to the corner of Lexa’s mouth.</p>
<p>“Please come back,” she says softly as she pulls away only seconds later. Unbidden, Lexa’s hand releases the straps of the rucksack and moves to touch the spot that Costia kissed, wondering if the tingling sensation should linger for so long. “Please.”</p>
<p>“I promise,” she says, the two words bursting from her mouth without her consent (and it is Costia’s answering smile, the way Lexa’s heart thuds in her chest in response, that makes her realize that she may have been lying when she spoke to Anya—she does not know better).</p>
<p>(But as she watches Costia turn away and leave, she also finds that she does not care. She does not care because she has something new to add to her list of things involving the other girl: Along with the beautiful laugh, the freckles across her nose, the dark curls, and the soft, inviting lips, Lexa learns that Costia smells like sunshine and wildflowers, like a bright summer’s day, and she begins to wonder if she could ever get enough.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve been smiling since we set out, what’s wrong with you?” Anya asks, slowing enough so that she is riding beside Lexa. For a moment, Lexa just schools her expression, staring at the back of Frieda and Verda’s heads, then she turns to Anya.</p>
<p>“Costia kissed me,” she admits softly, looking down, unable to lie to her mentor. “I’m sorry, Anya.”</p>
<p>“Why? Did you not like the kiss?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry because I did,” Lexa finds herself saying, staring determinedly at the reins in her hand. “<em>Heda </em>has said the things I care for will always be used against me. I’m sorry because I could not stop myself from caring.” Anya laughs, the sound shocking Lexa enough into looking up.</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous, Lexa,” she says, waving a hand. “No one expects you to stop caring. You are to be <em>heda</em>, as <em>heda </em>you must care for the well-being of all your people.”</p>
<p>“But I—”</p>
<p>“You would not be the rain after a drought had you closed off your heart, child,” Anya continues, smiling slightly. “Feelings don’t make you weak. Allowing them to rule your actions does.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda </em>says that all the time, but Anya, it sounds as if she is saying feelings themselves are weak.” Anya frowns, her eyes flitting over Lexa’s face for a moment before she lets out a sigh.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda </em>suffered through a great deal, Lexa,” she says softly, almost uncharacteristically. “She only speaks out of experience and out of much pain.”</p>
<p>“Do you think she’s right? Do you think that my allowing Costia to get close because I care for her is a mistake?”</p>
<p>“This is not the same thing,” Anya says patiently, shaking her head. “You are young and you are smitten. A kiss is nothing. <em>Heda </em>is speaking of much bigger issues.”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand.” Her mentor closes her eyes briefly, looking pained and conflicted, but she is saved the trouble of answering when Gustus rides up to them, tossing Anya an apple and giving Lexa a small grin before he offers her one too.</p>
<p>“We live in an uncertain world, Lexa,” he says, biting into his own apple, chewing thoughtfully as he thinks through each word. “The threats to our lives are numerous, and this is especially true for the Commander. She was not always so hard.”</p>
<p>“Gustus,” Anya mutters, her tone sounding like a warning.</p>
<p>“Lexa should know, it is not fair to her,” he argues, and after a second, Anya nods stiffly, digging her heels into her horse’s sides and hurrying forward, clearly unwilling to be a part of the conversation. Gustus watches her sadly and then turns to Lexa with a slight smile. “I became <em>heda’s</em>mentor when I was quite young. She was a sprightly child, always wanting to do something, easily excitable, fond of rushing off to collect flowers.” He smiles, as if the very thought of the child <em>heda </em>once was gives him comfort. “She was chosen early, Titus oversaw much of her training, but she took it all with grace. It never cowed her, never fazed her. She accepted her fate, embraced it, and there was never a doubt in my mind that she was <em>meant </em>to be <em>heda</em>.” Lexa, whose own experience has been vastly different, stares at her hands, letting Gustus’s words wash over her. “You are very like her.”</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t lie to make me feel better, Gustus.”</p>
<p>“It is not a lie, child,” he says, chuckling a little. “You and Isolde differ because she never questioned anything. She trusted the way things were done. But you are just as selfless, just as brave, just as strong as <em>heda</em>. Never doubt that.”</p>
<p>“So what changed? What made her hard?” Lexa asks, pocketing the apple core to feed to her horse later. Gustus watches her, something fond in his eyes even as his smile fades and his grip on the reins tightens.</p>
<p>“It began with me, I think,” he says softly, not looking like he wants to elaborate. “But it was Queen Nia who made Isolde who she is.”</p>
<p>“What happened, Gustus?” She does not want to hear about what hurt the Commander so much that she became hard, that she pretended that she could not feel (and it is <em>pretend </em>because Lexa has seen the Commander when she is soft and gentle, has had faith in her <em>heda’s </em>ability to love even when Anya said such a thing was not possible, has seen the pain that lines the creases her frowns have permanently embedded into her skin—the Commander <em>feels</em>, Lexa is sure of it).</p>
<p>She does not want to hear about it, and yet, she knows she must listen.</p>
<p>“The previous Commander was fond of war,” he says slowly, as if wanting to ensure that Lexa will absorb every word. She wants to shout, to scream, that it will not be a problem, that she can already feel the weight of his words against her chest, can feel their vice-like grip on her heart. She wants to do anything but sit still in her saddle and listen, and yet that is exactly what she does. Because this, this moment, these words, this lesson (for it is obviously a lesson, obviously a test), is necessary. It is required. And yet she fruitlessly hopes Gustus will not continue. “With war came famine and disease,” he murmurs, his voice growing gruffer, as if he can sense Lexa’s discomfort and is forcing himself to speak, “and the people felt as if the Spirit had abandoned them. Our people splintered apart, fighting one another, fighting an illness they could not see, smell, or touch.”</p>
<p>“Like the Beginning,” Lexa mutters, thinking of Gustus’s stories about how the twelve clans came about—how Polis had once been the capital of all the people, how the death of the first Commander led to the falling apart of whatever peace had remained after the end of the world. Gustus nods.</p>
<p>“When the previous Commander died, when the few <em>Natblidas </em>that remained underwent the Conclave, people hoped that the passing of the Spirit would improve conditions.” He sighs, shrugging helplessly. “Before the Conclave, Isolde asked me to ensure her parents made it out of their village, that they were taken to Polis, where illness had not yet struck.” He turns to Lexa, and impossibly, his eyes look watery. “When I arrived, most of the villagers, as well as her parents, were already ill.”</p>
<p>“The tests you give me,” Lexa begins, horrified, “they’re not invented, are they?” She does not need Gustus to shake his head to get her answer—his expression is answer enough.</p>
<p>“We killed them,” he tells her unnecessarily, his tone hard, “every last person in that village. Then we burned it all to the ground.”  </p>
<p>“But she forgave you,” Lexa protests, trying to unburden the man who gave her dried fruit and always had a smile ready for her. “She must have understood.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes,” Gustus says bitterly, “Isolde was always every good at being <em>heda</em>. She understood what I had done, accepted it, even embraced it. But the Conclave and her parents’ death…she changed, Lexa. I could see that the light was gone from her eyes.” He shifts in his saddle, loosening his tight grip on the reins, almost as if he had not even been aware of what he had been doing. “She had to focus on the uprisings, on the illness, on maintaining order for our people. And that,” he adds with a growl, “is when Nia arrived.”</p>
<p>“But the Commander knows better than to trust the Queen.”</p>
<p>“She knows that now, Lexa,” Gustus says with a shake of his head, “but back then she had just Ascended, just lost her parents, just lost her faith in her mentor and advisors. She was vulnerable and afraid and sad, but most of all, she was desperate. When Nia offered warriors to help quell the uprisings, well, Isolde felt she had no choice but to accept.”</p>
<p>“What happened?” she asks, though she does not want to know. She wants to know nothing more.</p>
<p>“Our people died at the hands of <em>Azgeda </em>in the name of peace. And then they died in Nia’s needless wars. Food, crops, lumber—valuable resources we needed were directed to the Ice Nation. We made enemies of Clans that had once been tenuous friends.” He sounds broken as he speaks, as if he blames himself, and Lexa does not know what to say to fix it. “Nia had many conditions for aiding us, but the one that rankled the most—the one even Titus cannot abide—involved the Flame.”</p>
<p>“Nia wants it for herself?”</p>
<p>“In a sense, yes. Her son, Roan, was to be named <em>heda </em>upon Isolde’s death. In any event, it meant that Nia would have control of the <em>Trikru.</em>”</p>
<p>“But—”</p>
<p>“Isolde bore much, believed peace within the Clan was important enough for such outlandish concessions to the Ice Nation, but then she found you.” He sounds as if he is in awe, and he looks at her much the same way, leaving her feeling uncomfortable and wary. “She does this for you,” Gustus says, and while Lexa wishes to vehemently deny the words, Gustus seems proud. “After everything, after allowing Nia such power over her in a moment of weakness, Isolde grew solemn, quiet, and has not trusted a single person since. Except for you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t deserve it,” Lexa snaps, but Gustus merely shrugs in response.</p>
<p>“But you do, Lexa. Because you are <em>you</em>—the one who argued for art and science, the one who fought for Glen, who suggested an alliance instead of war.” He shrugs again, giving Lexa a smile. “You are special, and that is why she trusts you.”  </p>
<p>“I am the rain after a drought,” Lexa whispers, the words taking on a new and horrifying meaning. Gustus, however, seems oblivious to Lexa’s discomfort.</p>
<p>“When the Commander tells you not to allow your feelings to rule your mind, this is what she is speaking of,” Gustus says, ignoring Lexa’s horror. “The fact that you care for the girl is not a problem. The problem is that one day you may have to choose between Costia and your duty, and Lexa,” he stops, pausing long enough that she looks up at him, eyes wide, heart hammering away, “you cannot choose Costia.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They discover the Ice Nation scouts two days into their journey—when a knife embeds itself in Verda’s skull. She slouches against her horse, clearly dead, and Frieda—covered in the splatter of her mentor’s blood—lets out a shout despite herself.</p>
<p>“Shut up, you idiot!” Anya hisses, releasing an arrow in the direction of the attack. It is nothing but a blind shot, an attempt to buy them time to find cover. Gustus points to a rock formation to their right, but before they can even move, another knife comes flying towards them, just narrowly missing Lexa’s ear.</p>
<p>“I count three,” Gustus says, his eyes narrowed. Anya nods.</p>
<p>“The one in the tree is mine.” She turns to Lexa, her eyes wide. “You and Frieda find cover. Hide. <em>Go</em>!” she hisses when Frieda merely stares blankly at her dead mentor. With a growl, Lexa dismounts (she is an easier target on her horse), and rushes over to Frieda, barely paying attention to the fact that Anya and Gustus have gone to find the scouts. Without giving the other girl time to protest, she pulls her off her horse, grabbing Frieda’s pack as well as her own and Verda’s, and then runs towards the rock formation, dragging Frieda with her.</p>
<p>“Crouch,” she orders in a whisper, hearing the whistle of an arrow behind her, “we’ll be harder to spot among the grass.” Frieda does not respond, but Lexa assumes she has done as she was told—no more arrows fly their way. When they reach the rocks, Lexa pushes Frieda out of sight, while she looks into the tree line for signs of Anya, Gustus, and more importantly, of the Ice Nation scouts. “Frieda. Do you see them?” Lexa asks, her eyes flitting about, one hand on the knife at her belt. “Frieda?” Lexa prompts when the girl does not respond. She turns and looks down, first noticing the trail of red on the rocks before she sees the arrow protruding from Frieda’s side. She barely has time to survey the severity of the wound before she hears footsteps.</p>
<p>“Find the two that ran off,” a man calls, and Lexa forces her eyes away from Frieda. Dread pools in her stomach when she realizes Gustus was wrong—there were more than three scouts. She presses herself against the rock, hoping to remain hidden.</p>
<p>“Lexa, Verda is <em>dead</em>,” Frieda moans, and Lexa can hear the scouts speaking, but she is too far away to make out their words, and their footsteps grow ever closer. She stares down at Frieda, at the blood on her shirt, and with a growl, she rips a part of her own shirt, wrapping the makeshift bandage around the wound and arrow, hoping to at least keep it in place until Gustus or Anya can remove it.</p>
<p>“You need to be quiet,” she tells Frieda harshly, pretending she does not notice the way the girl’s eyes roll back in pain, at the swallow of her throat as she struggles to speak, at the paleness of her skin. “All right? We’ll make it out of this, but you must be silent.” Frieda does nothing more than allow her head to loll forward, but Lexa takes it as a nod, and with nothing more than a grunt, she pulls her friend to her feet, and practically drags her towards the tree line, further away from the voices and footsteps of the scouts (she can only hope Anya has already taken care of the one in the tree). She feels a tug on her arm, but when she turns to Frieda, the girl is staring at something in the distance, eyes wide. Lexa follows her gaze, instincts kicking in when she sees a lone scout, advancing towards them with a sneer. She lets Frieda go, ignoring her grunt of pain as she falls to her knees, and without thinking about it, throws her knife just like she has practiced (just like Anya has taught her).</p>
<p>It hits the target with a sickening squelch, and the scout crumbles, dead.  </p>
<p>“Lexa, help me,” Frieda mutters, getting to her feet shakily, hand over the blood that is blossoming from the wound. “I’m going to die, die like Verda.”</p>
<p>“<em>Shof op</em>,” Lexa snaps, running to retrieve her knife and then hauling Frieda up again, half carrying her, half dragging her. “I won’t let you die.” Frieda stares at Lexa like she has not quite seen her before, but she nods, doing her best to keep quiet despite the jostling of the arrow each time they take a step. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, but determination is etched onto her features, and for a wild second, Lexa thinks they may get out of this alive.</p>
<p>But then she hears the scouts once more.</p>
<p>“This way,” a woman calls, her voice gruff and thick. “One is injured, easy to track.” Frieda turns to Lexa her lower lip trembling.</p>
<p>“Lexa, <em>please</em>,” she says, and Lexa is not quite sure what she is asking for. Is she begging for her life? Asking Lexa to remain with her, help her, even if such a thing is suicide? Is she asking Lexa to leave? To abandon her to Ice Nation scouts who will most certainly torture her before leaving her to die? After all, they have heard horror stories about <em>Trikru </em>caught by <em>Azgeda </em>scouts, they know what will happen. Or perhaps she is asking Lexa something else altogether—to end her fight, here and now, and spare her pain.</p>
<p>(Frieda’s eyes glow, features still etched with determination, and Lexa knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Frieda wants to <em>live</em>.)</p>
<p>“<em>Please</em>,” Frieda says, this time wrapping Lexa’s fingers around the hilt of her knife, this time telling her what she wants, this time her words and her actions and her expression at such odds that it leaves Lexa reeling. “<em>Please</em>.”</p>
<p>(She wants to live, to live, Lexa knows, can see it in her eyes. Then why is she asking this of her?)</p>
<p>(She cannot do this again, she cannot kill another friend.)</p>
<p>There is no one to help Lexa, no one to make the choice for her, no one to tell her what to do. She is alone, and she knows that there is no way Frieda will get out of this alive (but she <em>wants </em>Frieda to live, to make it out of this, she wants someone to take away this burden, this decision, this act).</p>
<p>Lexa has no choice (but she does, she does, she does).</p>
<p>“I am so sorry, Frieda,” she whispers, gripping the knife tightly. Frieda nods, something between a laugh and a sob escaping her, and Lexa helps her collapse against the trunk of a tree, listening to the sound of footsteps getting closer, listening to the hammering of her heart. “I don’t want to do this,” she says, tears blurring her vision. Frieda lets out a cry despite herself, and Lexa smothers the noises with her hand, cruelly pressing down on the wound, hoping the pain will be too much and Frieda will black out. She has no such luck. Frieda gasps a little, and Lexa’s hand keeps shaking. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, blinded by her tears as she pulls the knife out. “<em>Yu gonplei ste odon</em>.” One of the men calls out and the footsteps stop and then start again, growing even louder. Knowing this is her only chance, Lexa shoulders their packs, spares Frieda one last look, and then runs, heading deeper into the trees, officially completely on her own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She runs for what feels like hours, sweat streaming down her face and back, her grip on her knife so tight that she thinks she has cut off circulation to her fingers. Finally, her legs give way, and she falls face first into the muddy bank of the creek she has been following, sticking close to a water source as Anya has always taught her. The mud is cool, refreshing against her hot skin, and all Lexa wants to do is crawl into the creek, let the water rush over her—let the water wash Frieda’s blood off her hands. Instead, she pulls herself out of the mud and leans against the closest tree, giving herself the chance to catch her breath before she is forced to keep going. (She has a job, with or without Anya and Gustus, and she <em>will</em>see it through.)</p>
<p>Lexa digs through the packs, pulls out some dried meat and fruit, eating with her eyes constantly roving around, ready to get up and leave in an instant should any danger approach. She is tired—so very tired—and she wants nothing more than to lean back, close her eyes for just a moment, to rest…</p>
<p>“First Glen and now Frieda. There is much blood on your hands, Lexa.” Lexa’s head shoots up, and there, standing in the muddy bank of the creek, is her brother. He is shaking his head, disappointment written all over his face. “I do not recognize you anymore.”</p>
<p>“I had no choice.”</p>
<p>“Of course you did. You could have chosen to fight.”</p>
<p>“We both would have been killed! There were too many!”</p>
<p>“How do you <em>know</em>? What if Anya and Gustus were coming to your aid?” Lexa shakes her head, quelling the urge to cover her ears with her hands. “You killed her, killed her without stopping to think.”</p>
<p>“She would have died anyway. Of blood loss. The wound was severe, the bleeding heavy—she was in so much pain.”</p>
<p>“You are justifying your actions, Lexa. You are justifying your kill.”</p>
<p>“I had to, I had to—”</p>
<p>“Your first instinct was to kill, not to help. You are not the same!”</p>
<p>“No…Stop. I had to, I <em>had </em>to—”</p>
<p>“Was it worth it? Was it worth killing her like you killed Glen?”</p>
<p>“Stop it, <em>stop it!</em>” She is shaking, but more than that, she is <em>angry</em>. “I <em>had </em>to. This was nothing like with Glen. She would have died anyway. I <em>spared</em>her, I <em>helped </em>her.” She stares up at her brother—daring him to argue, daring him to continue his barrage, his accusations—but he is not there. Instead, it is <em>heda</em>, and her grey eyes are sad.</p>
<p>“Do you see, Lexa?  Do you see the pain I put you through? I never wanted this for you. I wish I had left you in your village—I wish I had never seen you.” <em>You are the rain after a drought</em>, her Commander tells her<em>, but I would rather my people suffer through the plight. </em></p>
<p>Lexa wakes up, the setting sun the only indication of how much time has passed since she fell asleep.</p>
<p>Lexa wakes up, and it is to a sword at her throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They bind her hands and take her things, pushing her every so often to remind her to hurry her pace. One of the warriors, a woman with long, braided hair, talks to the man who Lexa woke up to, his blade at her throat. Though they are whispering, they seem to be arguing heatedly, and Lexa wonders if they are debating about what to do with her. (All three warriors seemed quite keen on killing her until they saw the red sash hanging out of her open pack, at which point they merely tied her up. Clearly, they knew exactly who she was. She wishes it did not scare her as much as it does.)</p>
<p>“Hurry up, girl,” the woman says irritably, noticing that Lexa has once again lagged behind. “We must get to the Captain before first light.”</p>
<p>“Who is the Captain? If you’re Ice Nation, you might as well kill me now.” The woman snorts, pausing and waving the lit torch in her hand, using it to indicate herself and the other warriors.</p>
<p>“If the Captain decides to kill you, it will not be the three of us who carry out the task.” She raises her chin. “We are warriors, not child-killers.”</p>
<p>“I am no child,” Lexa says, shocked by her own tone—by the warning, the anger, the darkness in her words. But the woman merely snorts again and she does not respond. Instead, she shakes her head, the warrior behind Lexa pushing her in the shoulder, and they continue on without a word.</p>
<p>The silence continues for the next hour, Lexa amusing herself by kicking leaves, rocks, pieces of wood at her captors. Each time she manages to hit one of them, they turn to her, roll their eyes, and shake their heads. They are impressively patient, and Lexa—who managed to find a small, sharp rock and pretended to trip in order to scoop it up in her bound hands—waits, pushing all their buttons, needing them to break. She has just managed to hit the man with the sword on the head when they stop. Lexa narrows her eyes, trying to see what they have stopped for, when she feels something hard knock her in the back of her head.</p>
<p>“You will wake with a terrible headache, child, and to be honest, I’m not sorry for that,” a voice says, and Lexa’s world goes black. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she wakes, the first thing she is aware of is a blinding headache. She sits up slowly, taking in her surroundings.</p>
<p>She is in an empty room, quite similar to the Commander’s throne room in the tower back in Polis. There is a large, round table to her right, a window above her head (and judging by the light, it cannot be too long after sunrise), and a door across the room. She gets to her feet—noticing that her arms are unbound, the sharp rock missing—and shuffles to the door, struggling with it for a moment before giving up and sliding to the floor, her head between her knees.</p>
<p>
  <em>She has failed. </em>
</p>
<p>The three words repeat themselves in her mind, again and again, and shame—and overwhelming sense of shame—fills her, consumes her, blocking out all her fear. The Commander entrusted this task to her, the Commander believed she could get aid, and she <em>failed</em>. Verda and Frieda were dead, Anya and Gustus lost, and soon, Lexa would be gone too—not the <em>heda</em>to be, just a girl who was incapable of the one task given to her.</p>
<p>She looks up as the door to the room flies open, and gets to her feet hurriedly, taking up a fighting stance (for should she die, she refuses to die without fighting back). The woman who walks in, however, laughs, shaking her head.</p>
<p>“Try not to move so quickly, your head must still ache.”</p>
<p>“What does that matter?” Lexa hisses, her back to the wall. The woman smiles, and Lexa immediately takes note of the distinct lack of weapons (though it was possible she is hiding a blade in her baggy clothes). Her eyes are blue, like Gustus’s, her hair long and light, much like Anya’s. But it is the way that she carries herself, the way she stands, that reminds Lexa of the Commander. “You’re Luna,” Lexa mutters, dropping her hands, her mouth agape. “I made it?”</p>
<p>“My warriors were ordered to kill any Ice Nation scouts. But you are not Ice Nation nor a scout,” Luna says, stepping forward and staring Lexa straight in the eyes, a hard expression on her face. “Who are you, child? And why are you here?”</p>
<p>“<em>Ai laik Leksa kom Trikru</em>. And I am here to ask for your help.” Luna sniffs, her smile returning.</p>
<p>“Very well then, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>, how do you know who <em>I</em>am?” </p>
<p>“We must know our enemies better than our friends.”</p>
<p>“And Luna of the Boat Clan is an enemy of the Tree People, is she?”</p>
<p>“She is not an ally,” Lexa says, her heart racing. “But she could be.” She takes a step forward, her expression earnest. “Please, let me speak on behalf of my people.”</p>
<p>“Your people send a child to speak for them?”</p>
<p>“They send their future Commander to speak for them.” Luna laughs at this, shaking her head.</p>
<p>“Oh, if you knew me, you would know that I know all about the Conclave and the way the Commander is chosen.” She turns, clearly about to leave, and Lexa begins to speak out of desperation.</p>
<p>“The Commander has chosen me as her successor, claims that the Conclave will only prove what she already knows to be true. She entrusted me with this task, sent me here to speak with you in her stead. Please, Luna of the Boat Clan, please let me speak on behalf of my people.” Luna turns back around, looking curious.</p>
<p>“That is very interesting. A <em>Trikru</em>Commander that not only has chosen a successor before the Conclave, but seems to genuinely trust her.” She laughs again, gesturing for Lexa to sit at the table. “Very well then, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. Let us speak.” Lexa sits hesitantly, watching as Luna sticks her head out the door, says something, and then walks back in, pulling out the chair across from Lexa, her smile intact. “Well?”</p>
<p>“I’ve come to ask for your people’s aid.”</p>
<p>“We were at war only a few years ago. Do you think my people have forgotten?” Lexa shakes her head.</p>
<p>“You attacked us first, killing my people for food when you could have just asked for it.” Luna raises an eyebrow, but does not linger on that point any longer.</p>
<p>“Your Commander has a reputation, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. She is unwilling to listen, unbending, cruel. She bows to the will of Queen Nia. Why should I rush to the aid of such a person?”</p>
<p>“Because she is not the one you would be helping!” Lexa says, leaning forward, ignoring the ire she feels at Luna’s harsh words directed towards the Commander. It is not the time to fight. “You <em>need</em>us. We protect you from all sorts of invaders—even now, we are the only thing standing between you and the Ice Nation. By helping us, you help yourself.”  </p>
<p>“You are not listening,” Luna mutters, shaking her head. “I will not ally myself and my people with a woman who is perfectly willing to stab us in the back the minute she has no use for us anymore.” Luna snorts, rolling her eyes. “She and Queen Nia are quite similar in that regard. In fact, I am shocked that she asked for help at all. I always thought she would be more willing to die.”</p>
<p>“This was not her idea,” Lexa admits, not meeting Luna’s eyes, somehow feeling as if she is betraying the Commander. “It was mine.”</p>
<p>“Yours? And Commander Isolde listened to you?”</p>
<p>“I can be very convincing,” Lexa says, holding her head up high, sitting straight. “We have a common enemy to the south, and two more to the east. The <em>Trigedakru</em>are small in number, but we have a great deal of land—fertile farming land. The opposite holds true for the Boat Clan.” Lexa hides her hands under the table, hides their shaking and sweating. “We don’t need to merely be allies for this war. This can last. You help us protect our borders, and we help your people prosper.”</p>
<p>“And what assurances do I have that your Commander will keep the alliance, that it will last past this war?” Luna leans forward, her eyes darkening, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “How do I know I can trust Isolde?”</p>
<p>“You have <em>my</em>promise. <em>My </em>assurances.”</p>
<p>“You are not the Commander.”</p>
<p>“But I will be. I will be <em>heda</em>, and this alliance <em>will </em>last. I swear it.”  Luna leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, staring at Lexa as if she were a puzzle that just cannot be figured out. After a minute of silence, she tilts her head to the side, as if she has come to a conclusion.</p>
<p>“In return for our aid, you help my people prosper?”</p>
<p>“What is ours is yours, what is yours is ours.”</p>
<p>“You speak less of an alliance and more of a friendship.”</p>
<p>“Then let us be friends.”</p>
<p>“There is far too much blood on both our sides for such a thing to be possible.” Lexa frowns, knowing—<em>knowing</em>—that Luna is making things difficult on purpose, is arguing only for the sake of arguing. She takes a deep breath, unwilling to rise to the obvious bait.</p>
<p>“All friendships must start from somewhere. This alliance can be that start.” Luna lets out a laugh, leaning forward with a grin and a nod.</p>
<p>“How is it that Isolde found a successor like you?” she asks, eyes narrowing slightly. “For a coward, she has the best of luck.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>is a great Commander,” Lexa snaps, forcibly spreading out her fingers to avoid making a fist. “And she is a great woman.”</p>
<p>“Did I insult you, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>?” Luna asks curiously, but Lexa has managed to shelve her anger and pride already, and she does not rise to the bait a second time.</p>
<p>“Do you agree to the alliance or not?” Luna blinks at Lexa’s tone, but her smile does not fade, and if anything, she looks immensely pleased.</p>
<p>“Oh yes, we have a deal,” she says, holding out her arm. Lexa clasps it, but just as she is about to let go, Luna’s grip around her forearm tightens, preventing her from pulling away. “I just want this to be very clear, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. I make this alliance with you.”</p>
<p>“I understand.”</p>
<p>“No, I do not think you do. Should this alliance fall apart, for whatever reason, I will <em>kill</em>you.”</p>
<p>“I understand.”</p>
<p>“And should you fail at the Conclave, this alliance will die with you.” Lexa narrows her eyes but before she can speak, Luna releases her forearm and gestures to the door, where several men and women are bringing in plates of all sorts of fish and bread. “I am sure you must be hungry. Eat. I have a surprise for my new ally.” She stands and leaves the room, and Lexa merely sits there, staring at the food she does not dare eat despite the grumbling of her stomach. She looks up when she hears footsteps, and to her astonishment, Gustus and Anya rush forward, the two of them immediately checking her for injuries.</p>
<p>“Were you hurt?” Anya asks, holding Lexa by the arms, her eyes pausing briefly at the red marks around Lexa’s wrists (red marks that she shares).</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“And Frieda? Where is she?” Gustus asks, obviously content with her answer, though Anya’s eyes never stop roving over her, still looking for wounds. Lexa pulls out of Anya’s grasp.</p>
<p>“I had no choice,” she says, and Gustus’s eyes widen. “She was hurt, I had to.” Anya, acting uncharacteristically for the second time in only a few days, pulls Lexa into a hug, smoothing her hair, rocking her gently.</p>
<p>“You did well, my <em>heda</em>-to-be. You did well by her.” And Lexa, tired, stressed, hungry, the fear from the last day finally catching up to her, lets herself be held, lets herself be comforted—lets herself be weak for just a moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They plan to rest for a day only, waiting for Luna to gather her warriors, to send word out to her people about the new alliance—the war their allies were dragging them into.</p>
<p>The Boat Clan’s capital is different from the bustle and people of Polis (a city, Gustus said, as opposed to Luna’s large village). And yet, Lexa is charmed by it nonetheless. The weather is cooler, the air smells of salt, and the hour she spends on the sandy beaches just outside the village leaves her feeling refreshed. Which is why, the night before they are to set out—to rejoin Isolde and the <em>Trikru</em>with Luna’s army backing them—Lexa finds herself back at the beach, toes digging into the wet sand, chewing on some sort of grilled fish that a woman in the market had handed her. She sees Luna approach her and regretfully pulls her feet out of the sand, straightening her back and raising her chin. But Luna—rather than sit next to her on the overturned boat—plops down onto the sand, pulling off her boots and smiling each time the water laps up to her feet.</p>
<p>“It gets tiring,” she says after a moment, when Lexa remains stiff, “to be the leader all the time.”</p>
<p>“I am not the leader. Not yet.”</p>
<p>“My people who gather to fight for you disagree.”</p>
<p>“They fight for their own futures. They fight because of <em>your </em>speech.” Luna smiles, shrugging just a little.</p>
<p>“So if you’re not the leader, why not allow yourself a break?” she asks, pointedly staring at Lexa’s rigid back.</p>
<p>“I<em>was</em>taking a break.”</p>
<p>“Ah, I see. You can rest when no one is watching you, right?” Lexa refuses to answer, and Luna chuckles. “I do want to ask, though. Does your Commander know how much you care for her?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you mean.”</p>
<p>“You risked your life for her.”</p>
<p>“I risked my life for my people.” Luna grins, shrugging just a little.</p>
<p>“The Commander and her people are one. Isn’t that what you Tree People say? The Commander <em>belongs </em>to her people?” She gets to her feet, wipes off the sand on her pants, then picks up her boots, seemingly not interested in putting them back on. “Your idea, this alliance, <em>that </em>is for your people. That you do for them. But coming yourself? Offering up your life should this not work? You do that for your Commander.” She lets out a sigh, her grin slipping just a little. “You have a bleeding heart, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. It is strange for a leader, and I like that. I just wonder…how will you get through the Conclave with that heart of yours?”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand.” Luna’s eyes widen.</p>
<p>“Don’t they tell the <em>Natblidas </em>what’s to come?” When Lexa shakes her head, Luna leans over to her conspiratorially, her grin gone, only the ghost of a smile left on her face. “The Conclave is a test. Every child found worthy of the Spirit is thrust together, and the one who survives becomes Commander.” She leans back, looking upset, looking almost <em>guilty</em>. “Did you truly not know?” Lexa can do nothing but shake her head, and Luna’s face crumples some more. “Dear girl, all your preparation? All the training, all the breaks you don’t take? It’s for a slaughter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With the Boat Clan’s aid, it takes only months to push the Ice Nation back. Warriors from the Desert Clan run first, escaping back to their home, unwilling to face the wrath of the combined might of the Tree People and the Boat Clan. Then the Ice Nation warriors begin to retreat, forced further and further back until they are once again in their own territory. They have pushed so far in, in fact, that many advisors and generals wish to ‘end the threat’ entirely—wish to remove Nia, conquer the Ice Nation, forcing the <em>Azgeda </em>to abandon their homes.</p>
<p>“They deserve no quarter,” she hears warriors say. <em>Blood must have blood</em>, they call, demanding their justice.</p>
<p>(As the weeks drag on, villages are destroyed, innocents die, and what was once a war to prevent Nia’s expansion becomes something more of a slaughter, becomes corrupted and warped and fueled by a desire to shed as much blood as possible.)</p>
<p>(As the weeks drag on, justice turns into vengeance, and Lexa finds it difficult to meet the eyes of injured warriors who wish to return home, finds it difficult to watch as another village is burned to the ground, the screams of innocents fueling her nightmares.)</p>
<p>They have gone too far, she can feel it in her bones. In their haste to remove a threat, in their desire to maintain peace, they leave in their wake a vast wasteland of destruction and death, and it is too much. It is wrong.</p>
<p>(She burns to tell <em>heda</em>to stop, burns to plead with her, but each time she tries, something quells her tongue.)</p>
<p>Was it weakness to wish to end this war? Was it wrong?</p>
<p>(Shame courses through her veins, thrumming through her as she continues to cower, afraid to say what she thinks not because she believes she will be rebuffed—though she does not quite recognize the bloodthirsty <em>heda </em>before her, not really—but because she does not want to prove Titus right, to be proven as weak, and does not want to see disappointment or anger in the Commander’s grey eyes. She can tolerate <em>heda’s</em>anger, but not her disapproval.) </p>
<p><em>Was</em>it weakness to wish to end the bloodshed? Was it wrong?</p>
<p>Peace, she realizes, is a lofty goal, beyond what generals and advisors who wish nothing more than to clamber to the top of some non-existent hierarchy are capable of.</p>
<p>(She wonders if, one day, this will turn into one of Gustus’s lessons—that he will sit with a <em>Natblida </em>and talk of the time the Ice Queen was too proud to surrender and the combined might of the Tree People and Boat Clan left them so blinded by their bloodlust that they did not recoil at the destruction they caused.)</p>
<p>(She has been told that she must be smart and strong, that sometimes one must sacrifice what is good. But compassion is one of the pillars, and what was compassion if not innate goodness? What was it if not kindness? What was if not knowing when too far was just…too far? How could one sacrifice compassion when, without it, everything which the pillars are designed to hold up are destined to crumble?)</p>
<p>Lexa finds herself hoping that the Queen will just surrender, will end this plight, but Luna has explained why Nia would never do such a thing. “It is the ultimate weakness, a surrender. She would rather die than admit defeat.” (She would rather her people die than admit defeat, would allow such destruction to continue because she is too afraid to shelve her pride for the sake of those she leads.)</p>
<p>(And that, in the end, is what compels Lexa to speak up.)</p>
<p>She has been silent throughout every meeting with the generals, watching in distaste as people like Grenda reap the benefits of the sacrifices others were forced to make. But just as Grenda’s mouth opens, just as she is about to spout the same nonsense she spouts every time the Commander called them together, Lexa interrupts her.</p>
<p>“We must—”</p>
<p>“—stop,” Lexa says, keeping her hard gaze on Grenda and not the Commander. On Grenda and not Anya or Gustus. On Grenda and not the vacant spot next to her, where Verda once stood. “This must stop.”</p>
<p>“We are winning this war,” Grenda all but snarls, slamming her fist against the table. But her anger does nothing—Lexa watched as Frieda’s last breath left her body, saw the two men who had hung themselves with the wisteria vine <em>heda </em>so favored<em>. </em>Grenda’s anger does nothing; Lexa has seen much worse.</p>
<p>“This is no war, this is a slaughter.”</p>
<p>“We do to Queen Nia what she did to us.”</p>
<p>“And you think we’re any better than her? That our war is any more honorable?”</p>
<p>“We—”</p>
<p>“Enough, Grenda,” the Commander says softly, letting out a haggard breath. Lexa turns to her, keeping her chin up high, ignoring the knowing look on Luna’s face as she watches from the tent’s flap. “Speak your mind, Lexa,” she says, eyes serene, tone still calm.</p>
<p>“We all know Nia would rather die than surrender, which means this slaughter is merely giving her what she wants.”</p>
<p>“This is war.”</p>
<p>“But you have said it yourself, <em>heda</em>. Sometimes a well-placed word is just as effective as a well-placed sword. We don’t need to give her what she wants, we don’t need to sacrifice our people anymore.” The Commander studies Lexa, lips pressed together, grey eyes shifting from the nervous tap of Lexa’s finger against the table to the swallow of her throat. (She knows, Lexa realizes, knows how much speaking up is costing her, knows that Lexa is nervous only because she has thought long and hard about it all.) Finally, after what seems like ages, she nods.</p>
<p>“So what do you suggest, Lexa?”</p>
<p>“You can’t possibly wish to listen to a <em>child</em>, Commander!” Grenda shouts, but the Commander does not even move. She continues to stare at Lexa, patient and expectant.</p>
<p>“There is no more need for bloodshed. It will take years for the Ice Nation to rebuild. They depend on us for food—we can keep the <em>Azgeda </em>from amassing armies by using that to our advantage.”</p>
<p>“And the Queen? There must be justice for her actions.” </p>
<p>“There is more than one form of justice. Send messengers far and wide—tell the other clans how the Ice Nation crumbled at our feet. We ruin her, humiliate her, and she serves as a warning, a reminder to anyone else who would dare attack us.”</p>
<p>“Commander, you can’t possibly—”</p>
<p>“Silence, Grenda,” the Commander says, holding up a hand. She stares at Lexa a moment longer then turns to the others at the table. “What do you think of Lexa’s proposal?”</p>
<p>“I trust it, <em>heda</em>,” Gustus says. “She was right about the Boat Clan,” he nods respectfully towards Luna, “I’m sure she is right about this too.”</p>
<p>“And you, Luna? What do you think?” Luna smiles and steps forward, staring at Lexa though her words are directed towards the Commander.</p>
<p>“I believe this is the beginning of quite the friendship, <em>heda</em>,” she says.</p>
<p>“Very well then,” the Commander says, her lips quirking slightly. “We spare the Ice Nation. Gustus, select messengers and begin preparations for this…battle of words.” She smiles fully now, shaking her head. One by one the others take their leave, but Lexa stays behind, watching the Commander warily until they are alone.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, I—” But the Commander shocks her into silence by dropping to her knees. Lexa is tall enough now that the Commander is forced to look up. She grips Lexa’s upper arms, and it is as if they have been transported through time, as if the war with the Boat Clan had just been won, as if the Commander was seconds away from taking Lexa to her library.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Lexa,” she says, and the three words bring tears to Lexa’s eyes. (Because she knows what it means, knows that this was all a test, just another test.)</p>
<p>“Why?”<em>Why would you do this, </em>she is asking,<em>why would you put me through this? </em></p>
<p>“You must learn to trust your instincts. You cannot remain silent, lives are at stake. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>“Had I spoken up earlier, would you have stopped?” (<em>Would fewer people, fewer innocents have died, </em>she asks<em>, could I have saved lives?</em>)</p>
<p>“No, child,” the Commander says, rising to her feet. “Nia and I…blood <em>must </em>have blood, Lexa. And Nia has shed far too much of my people’s blood.”</p>
<p>“Luna called you a coward, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“She would not be the first,” the Commander says with a grin, though she sounds breathless and she averts her eyes. “Whatever I am, Lexa, if there is one thing in my life that I’m proud of, it is you.” She squeezes Lexa’s shoulder briefly and turns back to the maps and papers on the table. “Go on, child. Prepare for our return to Polis. I hear there is a girl you are most anxious to see.”  </p>
<p>(Once, Lexa would have shrugged off the odd behavior. Once, she would have assumed the strong, brave, and selfless Commander did not shed tears, was never weak. But she is no longer a child. She bows low, wishing—wishing with every ounce of her body—that <em>heda </em>knew there is no need to hide from her. After all, she knows the Commander is anything but weak.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When they arrive in Polis, it is to celebrations.</p>
<p>Lexa weaves through the crowded streets, unable to help but hear the stories that are passed around: how the Commander’s favorite brought reinforcements, how she then humiliated the Ice Queen, giving them a far greater revenge than a mere execution, how Luna of the Boat Clan swore to be allies for some time yet, meaning that she removed a threat.</p>
<p>How Lexa, the Commander’s favorite, outshone all other warriors—how she is a hero, how she will be the greatest <em>heda </em>the <em>Trigedakru </em>ever have.</p>
<p>(All of it is a lie, of course. No one speaks of Frieda, who Lexa killed, or how Luna seemed unstable at best, or how the Commander’s favorite did not humiliate the Ice Queen for revenge but because she had a <em>bleeding heart </em>and could not watch more people die. All of it is a lie, and all Lexa wants is to be alone, to escape the chants of <em>heda, heda, heda</em>, to escape the bows and grateful looks when people notice the red sash at her waist.)</p>
<p>It takes her a while, but she finally finds a place where she can be alone with her thoughts. She sits on the very ledge of the rooftop, her legs dangling over the side, the shopkeeper below her sending the occasional glare at the uninvited visitor. With a start, she realizes she has left her sash (red with blood) behind in her chambers, and for the first time in what seems like forever, she is merely a misbehaving second and not the <em>heda</em>-to-be. She almost welcomes the glaring.</p>
<p>“You may fall,” a soft voice says from behind her. “It would be quite the story. The <em>heda</em>dead, not because she fought and won us a war, but because she fell off a roof.” Lexa refuses to turn, not even when she feels the owner of the voice let out a grunt as she collapses next to Lexa on the ledge.</p>
<p>“I am not <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, my mistake,” the intruder says, sounding anything but contrite. “The <em>heda</em>-to-be then.”</p>
<p>“What do you want, Reed?” She tries to sound commanding, harsh, cold even, but she thinks she mostly sounds tired. The older woman seems to feel the same way because she reaches out with her undamaged arm and ruffles Lexa's hair playfully. Her own short hair is longer than Lexa remembers, and it is with a pang that she realizes just how long she has been gone from Polis.</p>
<p>“I came to speak with you about sparing the Queen.”</p>
<p>“You think it wasn't wise,” Lexa murmurs, eyes on the celebrations below. “You think I made a mistake. You think I've brought more war on my people.” She pauses, heaving a breath and clenching her shaking hands. “I've heard it all before. No need to say it.” (And she has heard it all before. Titus’s first words upon their return was that Queen Nia would retaliate eventually. His eyes were on Lexa as he mentioned it was now personal—that it now went beyond mere territory and resources.)</p>
<p>“It is not my place to question your decisions, Lexa,” Reed says, and it is so different from what others have said that Lexa turns to look at her, studying the expression on her lined face. “I don't envy you the decisions you will have to make. And I certainly can't judge you for them.”</p>
<p>“But what do you think?”</p>
<p>“You did the best you could to save lives. And that is the best a warrior can ever ask of their Commander.” Reed gets to her feet, holding out her maimed arm for Lexa to take before laughing and helping Lexa to her feet with her good arm. Lexa just smiles and shakes her head at Reed's antics, knowing that it was for her benefit.</p>
<p>“I'm fine,” she says, shrugging when Reed raises an eyebrow. “This isn't like after Glen. I'm fine.”</p>
<p>“Just because you have learned to tolerate the weight on your shoulders and the ache in your chest, it does not mean those things are normal.” She smiles. “You're special, Lexa. But you're not fine.”</p>
<p>“What would you have done?” Lexa asks as Reed begins to turn away, to leave her alone on the roof. Reed frowns at Lexa as she considers her answer.</p>
<p>“We are taught from childhood that it is an honor to die in battle. Our entire life is a fight, and what better way to end that fight by dying for our people?” Reed steps forward and tilts Lexa's chin up, pushes her shoulders back, has her standing tall and proud before grinning widely. “I would follow you into any battle, <em>heda</em>,” she says, smile still on her face, “because, like me, you know there is more honor in living to fight another day than there is in senseless death.” She turns away again, this time not stopping when Lexa calls out to her.</p>
<p>“That wasn't an answer.”</p>
<p>“Well I'm not the <em>heda</em>-to-be, now am I?” she asks, not looking at Lexa, only offering a wave as she climbs down. For a moment, Lexa considers sitting back down, legs dangling off the roof, but instead she sighs, tilts her chin up and straightens her back (wiggling, she thinks, just a little beneath the weight on her shoulders and the ache in her chest), and heads towards the tower. Her feet, however, have a different destination in mind, and instead of going back to her chambers as she intended, she finds herself in the Commander’s garden, inhaling the sweet scent of flowers that could never overpower the stench of blood that emanates from her hands.</p>
<p>And though she does not feel the peace she normally does when in the Commander’s garden, she thinks it becomes just a little easier to breathe when she sees Costia, laying back on the grass, her eyes on the sky.</p>
<p>“I thought you died,” Costia says without preamble, sitting up and turning to Lexa. “You said you would be back soon, and when you weren’t—”</p>
<p>“There were complications.”</p>
<p>“Frieda?”</p>
<p>“Dead.” Costia bites her lip, as if debating whether or not to ask, but then she stops and she gets to her feet, stepping over to Lexa. She reaches out hesitantly, and wipes the stray tear rolling down Lexa’s cheek with her thumb. “I had a choice,” Lexa admits, her voice breaking. “I had a <em>choice</em>.” Costia leans forward, letting Lexa rest her forehead against the other girl’s, the two of them completely silent except for their soft breathing and the occasional sob from Lexa. After a while, Lexa reaches up, wrapping her arms around Costia’s waist, pulling her closer, and Costia immediately responds, holding Lexa in a tight embrace, as if she could never bear to let go.</p>
<p>“It’s all right not to be all right,” she murmurs, clutching Lexa to her, one hand wrapped around Lexa’s back, the other at Lexa’s neck. “You have me. Please don’t bear it all on your own.” Lexa pulls back slightly, meeting Costia’s eyes—eyes that are brimming with unshed tears, tears that are for <em>her</em>, and for whatever reason, Lexa feels less alone for the first time in months (less alone since she left Costia to speak with the Boat Clan). “Lexa, you have me,” she repeats, looking at her earnestly, as if she needs Lexa to understand.</p>
<p>“I am not all right.” The words are so quiet that it is a wonder Costia even hears her. “But I have you,” Lexa says, and without allowing herself the time to think it through (because she can hear all of Gustus’s warnings and the truth about the Commander’s past is on the forefront of her mind, but she is alone—so very alone—and all she has is Costia), she leans forward, closing the last few inches of distance between them, and presses her lips to Costia’s. The kiss is slow and gentle and chaste, and when her heart threatens to beat right out of her chest, when it all becomes too much, Lexa pulls away and buries her face in Costia’s neck, her mind blessedly clear except for one thought:</p>
<p>Costia’s lips are as soft as they look.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Fifteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: alcohol sucks I'm so hungover. also this chapter is a doozy and is my absolute favorite</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wind rustles the leaves of the nearby trees, the chill in the air having been uncomfortable if not for the warmth pressed up against her side. She had managed to sneak out of the tower—out of Polis—long before the sun rose, finding Costia by the lake where they met, taking advantage of the relative peace and of her people and her <em>heda </em>to spend time with the one person who did not seem to care about who Lexa would become, but only who Lexa is.</p>
<p>Their hands are clasped somewhere between them, Costia’s thumb rubbing mindless patterns into Lexa’s skin, but all they do is lay in silence, staring about at the cloudy skies, listening to the lapping of the water and breathing in the cold air. It is the calmest she has felt since returning to Polis, and it scares her that the girl who taught her how to be a friend—the girl Lexa betrayed—is the one who manages to silence the nightmares in her head, who makes it a little easier to breathe.</p>
<p>What seems like only minutes later, the sun is much higher up in the sky, and Costia wordlessly gets to her feet, pulling Lexa up as well. They stand there with their foreheads pressed together, hands entwined, eyes locked.</p>
<p>“You have training,” Costia murmurs, looking like she wants to ask Lexa to abandon her duties. (Except, Lexa knows she will not. On some level, she must know that Lexa would want to say yes, and she would not want Lexa to feel conflicted when she is forced to say no.)</p>
<p>“Anya won’t mind if I’m a little late,” Lexa says, though she and Costia both know that is a lie. “If anything, she will be a more challenging opponent if she is angry with me.” Costia laughs, kissing Lexa’s cheek, and then—with the slightest bit of hesitation—pressing a quick kiss to her lips.</p>
<p>“Never change,” she says, smiling when Lexa just sighs, resisting the urge to touch her lips, to close her eyes and commit each kiss to memory. “I’ll see to your wounds after your training,” she jokes, and Lexa laughs, nodding.</p>
<p>They head towards Polis together, separating just out of sight of the gates with one last kiss, and it is only when Lexa is alone that she realizes just how late she truly is—just how angry her mentor must be—and she rushes towards the tower to gather her things. She is waiting for the man-powered elevator when she hears a yell, recognizing Titus. Frowning, Lexa approaches the source of the sound, finds that the healer’s quarters are occupied not only with Titus, but with Gustus and <em>heda </em>as well.</p>
<p>“It is getting <em>worse</em>!” Titus snarls. Lexa stops, looking into the room, watching the Commander shift uncomfortably on the chair she sits in, leaning forward and breathing heavily, the healer standing to the side, as if afraid of what Titus might do. Gustus merely stands to <em>heda’s </em>right, his head down, arms crossed over his chest. “It is getting <em>worse</em>,” Titus repeats, his voice dangerously low.</p>
<p>“I told you it would. I told you she would need to rest, but she went to—”</p>
<p>“—enough,” the Commander mutters, her chest still heaving. “How much longer?”</p>
<p>“It is hard to say, <em>heda</em>. Convulsions come next. Then delirium, then—”</p>
<p>“I know the symptoms already. I want to know <em>how long</em>.” But before the healer can respond, <em>heda </em>begins to cough, pressing a cloth to her mouth, making a loud hacking noise. When the coughing finally stops, she pulls the cloth away.</p>
<p>It comes back red.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda—</em>” Lexa starts, stepping forward, but something hard and heavy hits her in the back of the head, and her entire world goes black.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Commander sits slouched on her wooden throne, breathing deeply, fingers rubbing her temples. To her right, Titus stands with an uncharacteristic expression on his face, wringing his hands every few seconds, his eyes never straying far from the Commander.</p>
<p>“You’re ill?” Lexa asks, rubbing the back of her head, still bitter that Anya had felt the need to knock her out. After all, Lexa had already discovered the thing <em>heda </em>and the others had been so desperate to keep from her.</p>
<p>“Lexa,” Titus says, and it sounds like a warning, but the Commander merely raises her hand and he falls silent, taking a step back.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she says, looking up and meeting Lexa’s eyes. “I believed if you had known, it would distract you.”</p>
<p>“But you will get better, right?” She looks from the Commander to Titus, not liking their silence. “There must be something to do, something to—”</p>
<p>“Titus,” the Commander interrupts, sighing slightly as she gets to her feet almost shakily. (That alone is enough to send Lexa’s heart racing; that alone is enough to make her hands shake and her blood run cold.) “I think it is time you taught Lexa about the Conclave.” She steps past Lexa, pausing only long enough to place a hand on the top of her hand (a hand whose weight has never been heavier). “I think I will go rest.” She leaves without another word, leaving Lexa alone with Titus, who extraordinarily, motions for Lexa to sit on the throne rather than on the ground.</p>
<p>(With a rush of childish rebellion, Lexa refuses to move at all, daring Titus to argue with her.)</p>
<p>(He does not.)</p>
<p>“The Conclave,” he says, stepping forward and bowing his head, “traditionally consists of three parts.” He looks sad, that is what Lexa notices as he speaks. Titus—harsh and somewhat radical in his loyalty to the <em>heda</em>—feels <em>sad </em>for her, and that is how Lexa knows this is serious. “There is a test of wisdom, of compassion, and of strength, each level weeding out <em>Natblidas </em>who do not deserve the Spirit until only one remains.” He steps even closer, ensuring Lexa cannot escape his gaze. “You have already passed the tests of wisdom and compassion. Effortlessly, might I add.” He smiles slightly, and it looks wrong on his face. “I must admit, though I did not agree with <em>heda </em>about you at first, she was not wrong. You are special<em>, Leksa kom Trikru</em>. But now you must prove it to your people.” He motions for her to follow him, leading her out onto the balcony, gesturing to the expansive city below them and the <em>Trikru </em>lands beyond. “The day after the Commander’s death, you and the other <em>Natblidas </em>who have been deemed worthy will fight to the death. The one who remains standing will be the next <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“All this preparation,” she murmurs, “for a slaughter.” Titus sighs, hanging his head as if ashamed.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says finally, looking like he wishes to offer comfort but does not know how. He clears his throat, and with only one final look at her, he leaves her alone, shivering in the frigid wind that threatens to throw her off the tower.</p>
<p>She breathes in deeply, relishing the cold air’s attack on her lungs, jolting her awake and keeping her clearheaded. Word has spread of the Commander’s illness, despite the efforts to keep it quiet. <em>(“Have you heard?” the people ask in the streets.) </em>She takes another breath, dispelling her thoughts, wiping her mind clean of the fear that plagues her. Her nose is so cold that she no longer feels it, her gloveless hands stiff and frozen against the railing. She thinks of Titus’s words, of the blood <em>heda </em>coughed up, of the way she had not been able to meet Lexa’s eyes. <em>(“Have you heard?” the  people ask in the streets of Polis, the quiet, desolate, </em>mourning <em>streets. “Have you heard the Commander is ailing?”) </em>Lexa rubs her hands together, generating meager warmth, a weak attempt at encouraging blood flow to her fingers, to bring feeling back to them. A part of her does not mind the cold, a part of her <em>revels </em>in it—after all, it matches the sensation beginning to take hold in her chest, matches the pervasive iciness of her no longer beating heart. <em>(“Have you heard?” the people ask in the streets of Polis, their voices soft, their tones broken. “Have you heard the Commander is dying?”) </em></p>
<p><em>(Yes, </em>Lexa wants to cry back. <em>Yes. I watch as it happens.) </em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>//</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>She spends less and less time training. At first, it was to help with small things—travel to villages nearby, participate in ceremonies in the Commander’s stead, help settle petty disputes. But soon the Commander can barely walk, pale and withering away, only her striking grey eyes still bearing any resemblance to the warrior—the leader—she once was.</p>
<p>“There is no reason for you to stare, child,” she says one night, not touching her food, not touching the book Lexa brought for her. “If I am to die, I will die. Your gaze will neither hurry this along nor bring it to a halt.”</p>
<p>“Please eat, <em>heda</em>,” Lexa says, ignoring the one word in the Commander’s comment that makes her feel as if she were outside again, struggling not to fall apart in the cold. “Keep up your strength.” The Commander huffs, rolling her eyes and leaning back in her chair.</p>
<p>“You are being weak, Lexa.”</p>
<p>“I just don’t want you to die.”</p>
<p>“We <em>all </em>die, child,” she snaps, clearly at the end of her patience, and Lexa swallows, looking away—averting her eyes. “We all die, but death is not the end. My Spirit will move onto you, and I live on through you.”</p>
<p>“That is not enough,” Lexa says, feeling bold, brave, <em>rebellious</em>. But the Commander just seems annoyed.</p>
<p>“It never is, Lexa,” she says, getting to her feet shakily. “But we must all accept that which we cannot change.”</p>
<p>“I have no wish to accept it.” The Commander slams her fists on the table, her eyes wide, something in them that Lexa fears—acceptance of the inevitability of her death, an acceptance that shakes Lexa to her core, an acceptance that she cannot understand.</p>
<p>“You have no choice!” she snaps, at wit’s end. “I will die and you will be the Commander. Come to terms with that fact now, Lexa. Whether or not you like it, that is exactly what will happen.” She shakes her head, her chest heaving from exertion. “You are being weak.”</p>
<p>“You once said that I didn’t need to hide my weakness.”</p>
<p>“Yes, from me. But I am dying, child,” she says with a mirthless smile. “It is time you get used to the hiding.” She walks away, not looking back once, and Lexa shakes with rage, with terror, with <em>agony</em>, not speaking as the Commander shuffles away.</p>
<p>(She is bedridden the very next week, suffering through convulsions several times a day.)</p>
<p>Lexa refuses to train anymore, spending all her time by the Commander’s bedside, reading to her, speaking with her, pretending as if nothing is wrong. And the Commander, selfless as always, gives Lexa what she needs—a sense of normalcy, putting up an act, playing make-believe, never once breaking script.</p>
<p>“Of all the books you’ve read, <em>heda</em>, which is your favorite?” The Commander turns her head, and Lexa pretends she does not see the sheen of sweat on her brow, pretends she does not notice the gauntness of her face, focusing everything on the strained smile.</p>
<p>“There is a story, one that I read when I first became <em>heda</em>, that has stuck with me.” Her smile widens and she turns to look at the ceiling, her eyes seeming glassy, unfocused, sad. “The Mice and the Cats were at war, and the Mice gathered together to discuss why they always seemed to lose.” She pauses briefly to cough, and Lexa pretends she does not notice the blood at the corner of her Commander’s mouth. “They decided it was the lack of clear leadership that led to their defeat, so they made their captains wear straw headgears, to mark them as leaders in battle.” She turns back to look at Lexa, her smile gone. “When they go to battle against the Cats again, they lose once more, and the Mice flee back down their holes. Except for the leaders—the captains. Their straw headgears prevented them from escaping, and they were devoured by the Cats.” She laughs, raising one eyebrow. “Appropriate, no?”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, I—”</p>
<p>“—yes, yes, I know we don’t wear straw headgear. But the concept is the same.” She laughs again, sounding positively mad. “Being <em>heda </em>is a great honor, and it leads us to our graves.”</p>
<p>(This marks the onset of fevers and delirium, and more often than not, the Commander is not lucid, spending much of the time she is awake seeing and speaking with people that have long since died, reliving the worst moments of her life, mumbling on about a woman named Becca. She breaks out of the hallucinations only to turn to Lexa with wide eyes, parted lips, begging for water and shaking her head frantically. “Who you are now must die when you become <em>heda</em>,” she says between sips, not paying any heed to Lexa’s attempts to settle her back into bed. “Better to die than to lose yourself.” And she slips back into her deliriums, no longer aware of Lexa’s presence.)</p>
<p>Lexa watches helplessly as she grows worse each day, watches helplessly as her Commander, her <em>heda</em>, withers away. Her death is fast approaching, Lexa <em>knows </em>it is because Titus and the Elders he leads, the generals, even Anya and Gustus, are preparing for the others chosen by the Spirit to arrive, preparing for the Conclave, and all the while Lexa sits by her Commander’s bedside, grasping her hand, trying (and failing) to control the flow of tears that stream down her cheeks.</p>
<p><em>It is weakness</em>, she reminds herself<em>, it is weakness </em>(but not in front of her <em>heda</em>, never in front of her). </p>
<p>“Oh Lexa, you should be training,” she mumbles, lucid for the first time in days, seemingly in a daze. “You must prepare for the Conclave.”</p>
<p>“This is more important, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“It is more important that you become <em>heda</em>. You are—”</p>
<p>“—the rain after a drought, yes, Commander, I know.” Lexa blinks back tears, gazing into the grey eyes of her <em>heda</em>, her chest constricting and making it hard to breathe. She swallows back tears, swallows back her pain, and tries to give the Commander her most comforting smile. She knows she has failed when worry creeps into the Commander’s weary expression.</p>
<p>“No, you must know what you are to me.” Lexa says nothing, and the Commander tightens her grip on Lexa’s hand, her eyes watering (it is the first time she has seen her Commander cry—the first time she has shown weakness in front of Lexa—the first time that the strong, brave, and selfless woman has shown such vulnerability, and Lexa can no longer quell her own tears). “Have I ever told you how you were chosen?” She coughs, heaving briefly before focusing her eyes back on Lexa. “We had no reason to pass by your village that day, in fact, Titus was against the idea entirely. Yet I decided a detour would not matter. You were among a group of children, very clearly the youngest and smallest, and you all were arguing.” She smiles, as if this is a fond memory. “One of the bigger boys had broken something of value of the healer’s, and he was trying to convince one of you to take the blame, even going as far as threatening another boy.” Her eyes and voice take on a dreamy quality, as if she is no longer in Polis, but outside of Lexa’s village, transported through time and space. “And then you, small, the only one not arguing, just walked away. I watched as you went to the healer’s home and confessed to a crime that was not yours. Selfless, brave, and strong, even at the age of six.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p>
<p>“There are some things we learn, child,” she continues, ignoring Lexa. “Things we can be taught. And there are some things we are born with, things that are innately ours.” She smiles wildly, unabashedly, and she is transformed, for a moment, looking utterly healthy. “And you, oh you child, you are strong, brave, and selfless, but you are also kind, decent, <em>good</em>. These are not things I can teach you, these are things that are already in you.”</p>
<p>“You’re wrong, <em>heda</em>,” Lexa says, her voice thick. “I killed Frieda and Glen. I betrayed Costia. I am not good.” The Commander releases Lexa’s hand and reaches out to cradle her face, wiping her tears away with her thumbs.</p>
<p>“I am not wrong. Because even now, what you have done pains you, haunts you.” She releases Lexa, her lower lip trembling. “I have condemned you to this life, and there is no greater sin, there is nothing I regret more—”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p>
<p>“—because you are not just my successor or my salvation. You are not just the rain after a drought. You are my <em>goufa</em>, my <em>yongon</em>, and child, I have caused you much pain, and I leave you with nothing but the promise of more suffering.” Her chest is heaving, clearly exhausted from the exertion of speaking so long, but she is not done. “I regret the future I leave you with, but I cannot regret meeting you, knowing you.” She smiles, and it is lachrymose, is it heartbreaking, and it does not reach her eyes. “You are my pride and joy, Lexa. You are the one good thing that has happened to me since I became <em>heda</em>.” She closes her eyes. “The one good thing,” she repeats softly, shaking her head slightly.</p>
<p>“Please,” Lexa mumbles. “Please, <em>heda</em>. Please don’t leave me alone. You said you would stay. You said you would not leave. Please don’t turn into a liar now. <em>Please</em>.”</p>
<p>“Harden your heart, child,” she says without opening her grey eyes, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “You will be great.”</p>
<p>(She falls asleep soon afterwards, and several days later, without having woken up again, her chest stops rising and falling, and she slips away.)</p>
<p>(Lexa is there when it happens, and with dry eyes and steady hands, she cuts one of the Commander’s braids, pocketing it.)</p>
<p>(Lexa is there when it happens, and though her icy heart feels like it has shattered into a million pieces, she merely nods when she is told the Commander’s body will be taken to the pyre, as the flame above the tower—always lit and alive while the Commander’s heart beats—is extinguished, merely watches as the body is burned, as the people of Polis mourn, the steady beat of drums filling the streets, vendors closed, children acting morose, intuitively knowing something terrible has happened. Lexa merely watches as the others chosen by the Spirit stare at her threateningly, with poorly disguised expressions of absolute hatred. She merely goes through the motions as the world says goodbye to the greatest woman she has ever known.)</p>
<p>“<em>Yu gonplei ste odon, heda</em>,” the people who have gathered around the pyre cry out in unison, all of them holding their weapons to the chest as a sign of respect, heads inclined, cheeks tearstained (for it is not weakness to cry for the Commander).</p>
<p>Lexa merely watches the pyre burn, keeping utterly silent, eyes still dry.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She unties the red sash around her waist slowly, folding it and placing it on her bed. She stares at it blankly for a moment, frowning, before she takes the item Titus had given her earlier and fastens it to her leg. It is the only weapon she will be allowed, the only thing she can take with her into the forest where she will meet the other <em>Natblidas</em>, thrust out into the wilderness and the cold with nothing but a crude knife and her wits. (“Isolde chose you,” he had said under his breath as he had pressed the blade in her hand, the other <em>Natblidas </em>watching the exchange carefully. “I believe that means something.”)</p>
<p>She snorts now, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Of course Titus would choose now to have faith in her. Of course Titus would choose now—now that the Commander is gone, now that she will never know that her closest advisor did trust her after all—to express his faith. She clenches her fists, blinks rapidly, and swallows hard, quelling the emotions welling up in her chest.</p>
<p>Now is not the time.</p>
<p>She gets to her feet and leaves her chambers, not bothering to take one last look (either she will see this place again or she will not, there is no point in dwelling on something she cannot change) behind her. Outside her room, Wennin leans against the wall, Rox standing next to him, both of them sporting the same expressions of worry.</p>
<p>“You will do fine, <em>Natblida Leksa</em>,” Wennin says, inclining his head low. “I look forward to pretending I cannot hear your conversations.” She smiles stiffly at him, feeling a rush of gratitude she has no idea how to express, and Wennin seems to understand. With one last low bow, he leaves her alone with her brother. For a second she thinks he will not do anything at all, that he will leave as well, but just as she opens her mouth to tell him it was all right, he steps forward and envelopes her in a hug. He does not say a word, just holds her, perhaps intuitively knowing that this was the best thing he could have offered her—perhaps just not knowing what he could say before she walked into what was most likely certain death.</p>
<p>After a long moment, Lexa returns his embrace.</p>
<p>They stay like that for a minute longer, and then Rox pulls away, pressing a kiss to her forehead and offering her a watery smile. Then, just like Wennin, he bows low—honoring her, offering respect and the tacit belief that she will be the one who emerges from the forest alive—and then turns on his heel and walks away.</p>
<p>With a sigh, she takes the long way down the tower, allowing her feet to do the thinking, running her fingers over the walls, ignoring the guards and aids and Elders who have known her since childhood, who bow low as she walks past.</p>
<p>She is supposed to meet Titus and the other <em>Natblidas </em>at the gates to Polis, but instead, she finds herself in the Commander’s garden. (Costia had wanted to meet her here, had wanted one moment with her before the Conclave, but Lexa had refused. She had said she had no wish to be distracted, but the truth was there was a part of her that was unsure if she could make the trek out to Titus if she had been forced to say goodbye to Costia too.)</p>
<p>She sees Reed and Anya standing together near the Commander’s favorite flower, near the vine that blooms for Lexa. They are speaking—more accurately, Anya is ranting about something, eyes flashing, hands waving erratically, and Reed is listening carefully, nodding along—and Lexa finds she has no wish to be seen by them. Wennin’s words and Rox’s hug are still on the forefront of her mind, and she cannot make this any more difficult than it already is.</p>
<p>She steps away, but she does not manage to get very far. Almost immediately, she runs into Gustus, and he sports a knowing look, but the usual grin is gone, his eyes just sad. He takes a hold of her arm, guides her down the empty street, towards the gates, as if he knows—and he probably does know—that there had been a moment, brief and immediately dismissed, that Lexa had thought of running, of escaping this duty she never asked for. </p>
<p>“They will go after you first,” he tells her as they walk, digging into his pockets with the hand that is not holding onto her. “They know you as Isolde’s favorite.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” Lexa corrects. Gustus closes his eyes, shaking his head patiently.</p>
<p>“She is gone, child, and her title died with her. There is no <em>heda </em>until the Conclave is complete.” Lexa does not respond and Gustus sighs, looking more than a little frustrated. He stops digging through his pocket, offering her a small handful of dried fruit. Lexa nearly laughs, and Gustus’s eyes grow less sad for just a moment. “Find high ground, water. There are only eight of you.”</p>
<p>“There were more,” Lexa says, toneless and numb once more.</p>
<p>“They died. Illness, weakness, the war. Failing <em>heda’s </em>tests.” She feels a rush of gratitude towards him, for the consideration he shows, even though he knows she is being stubborn at best. “You are far better trained, smarter, more experienced than any of them. This should be easy for you.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I merely have to kill seven people.” Gustus’s face falls at her words, looking perturbed.</p>
<p>“She chose you, Lexa. Do not dishonor her by giving up now. Do not let <em>heda </em>down.” Lexa clamps her eyes shut, fighting back hot tears. She frantically pushes away the feelings that wash over her, threatening to overwhelm her, and then meets Gustus’s eyes levelly, her expression cool and composed despite the clawing at her heart (a heart she was instructed to harden, though never taught <em>how</em>).</p>
<p>“I would never let the Commander down.”</p>
<p>“Lexa…” He trails off, pulls her to a halt, and places his hand on top of her head, the once comforting gesture just settling heavily. “<em>Ste yuj. </em>All will be well.” Lexa nods, but she knows that this is yet another lie.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She breathes in deeply, relishing the cold air’s attack on her lungs, jolting her awake and keeping her clearheaded. <em>(“Have you heard?” people ask in the streets.) </em>She takes another breath, dispelling her thoughts. Her nose is so cold that she no longer feels it, and despite the gloves on her hands, her fingers are stiff and frozen. <em>(“Have you heard?” people ask in the streets of Polis, in time with the beating of the drums, the blaring of the horns. “Have you heard the Commander is dying?”) </em>Lexa shifts against the tree, pulling her knees up closer to her chest, trying fruitlessly to keep warm without starting a fire. <em>(“Have you heard?” the people ask in the streets of Polis, their voices weak, their tones terrified. “Have you heard the Commander is dead?”) </em></p>
<p><em>(Yes, </em>Lexa wants to cry, her chest aching, her eyes burning, feeling as though something has been ripped right out of her, leaving her vacant, empty, a shell. <em>Yes</em>, she wants to cry, to shout, to scream. <em>I watched as it happened.) </em></p>
<p>She hears the distant sound of metal clanging on metal, and she realizes at least two of her enemies have run into each other. She has learned their names (she has no idea how or when that happened, just that it did and she can do nothing to change it). Tara, Blaze, Rhett, Dez, Artemis, Lux, and Hera. Seven mere <em>children</em>, like her, thrust together to fight for an honor they should not want. Sighing lightly, Lexa pulls out the knife Titus gave her, grasping it tightly as she leans her head back against the tree, her eyes on the stars she can see between the branches. She lets herself, for just a moment, get lost in a dream, thinking about a life in the heavens, far away from the bloodshed and loss of her world. She lets herself, for nothing more than a brief moment, wonder about a life beyond the one she knows. And it is beautiful, and it is heartbreaking.</p>
<p>
  <em>I regret the future I leave you with, but I cannot regret meeting you, knowing you.</em>
</p>
<p>Lexa swallows hard, blinking back tears, turning away from the sky. How foolish to think the Commander would stay. How childish to believe in promises. Everything was merely empty words, everything was merely a lie. <em>(You should have known better</em>, she tells herself. <em>You should have known better than to trust a liar—than to trust the one who taught you to lie, too.) </em></p>
<p>The clanging stops and Lexa realizes their count has gone from eight to seven, and she settles even further into the tree, pressing herself to the bark, hidden by the darkness. Footsteps draw closer and the winner of the battle comes within view. It is Artemis, a girl with a larger build than Lexa, only a year or so younger, and her hands are coated with something (<em>blood</em>), her knife glinting in the moonlight. Lexa must be hidden quite well because Artemis does not even pause—keeps moving, her footsteps noisy, drawing the attention of everything within a twenty-foot radius. <em>She is stupid</em>, Lexa thinks to herself. <em>She would make a terrible </em>heda<em>.</em></p>
<p><em>Harden your heart child. You will be great</em>.</p>
<p>She gets to her feet carefully, her movements sure and silent, and she follows the bigger girl, completely unbeknownst to her. And when Artemis stops, clearly worn out, she does not remember to keep her back to a tree, and it takes only moments for Lexa to sneak up behind her. It takes only moments for the count to go down from seven to six.</p>
<p>Lexa returns to her tree, her hands slick with blood, and she collapses onto the ground, pulling her knees to her chest, taking deep breaths of the cold night air, reveling in the attack on her lungs. <em>Heda </em>believed she reeked of the blood of the lives she tore apart, and now, Lexa realizes with a mirthless laugh, she reeks as well (it began, she knows, with Glen, and it will never end). It is appropriate, it is logical, it is necessary.</p>
<p><em>Harden your heart, child</em>. <em>You will be great</em>.</p>
<p>Lexa turns her attention back to the sky, feeling silly for her thoughts before. There is no other world but this one. There is no life beyond the bloodshed and loss of her own. Hoping and dreaming for anything beyond what she lives is fruitless and pointless, an utter waste of time. She is to be <em>heda</em>—she has no time for hopes and dreams.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the morning, she discovers three dead bodies. (Hera, Lux, and Dez, she thinks, the three of them somehow both unfamiliar and a reflection of herself.) Six has dropped to three, and Lexa knows she can settle down to wait, wait for Rhett and Tara to come after her before they try to finish off each other. (As Gustus said, after all, she is—<em>was—</em>the Commander’s favorite, she is the one they will target.)</p>
<p>She does not have to wait long. It is well before noon when she hears the bustling of branches being pushed aside, the sound of leaves crunching beneath a heavy foot (Rhett, she thinks, the footsteps too heavy for Tara’s nimble and light movements). “Well, well, well,” Rhett says as he approaches her, twirling his knife between his fingers. Though Lexa holds what is almost an exact replica in her hand, there is something more childish, more silly about the weapon Rhett wields. Perhaps it is because her knife is weighed down by the Commander’s expectations, with Titus’s ill-timed faith, with Rox’s tight embrace. Perhaps it is because she knows what she is shedding blood for, and Rhett has no clue. “Tara! I found her!” Lexa does not turn around when she hears the bustling behind her, indicating Tara’s presence. She continues to stare at Rhett, at the small smile playing at his lips. “So, you are the one Isolde loved.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” Lexa corrects mechanically. Tara laughs from behind her, but Rhett (so similar to Glen, except for his dark eyes, completely different from Glen’s kind, sweet ones, eyes never meant to see the horrors of their world, eyes that <em>Lexa</em>shut permanently) merely frowns.</p>
<p>“She is dead. There is no <em>heda</em>.” Lexa refuses to respond to Tara’s taunt and after a moment, Rhett steps forward, shaking his head in bewilderment. </p>
<p>“I did not even know I was what they call a <em>Natblida </em>until two weeks ago, when they said Isolde was dying. But I hear you’ve known since the day you were chosen. You’ve been told that you will be <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“I <em>will </em>be <em>heda</em>, Rhett,” Lexa says calmly. Tara snorts.</p>
<p>“The Conclave decides who is to be the Commander. Not you, and certainly not some dead woman.” Lexa takes a deep breath of the frigid air, relishing the cold’s attack on her lungs, the burning sensation jolting her awake, keeping her clearheaded.</p>
<p>“You don’t understand,” Lexa says, her voice still soft, still calm. “The Conclave is not about you. The test is mine, and I do not fail <em>heda’s </em>tests.”</p>
<p>“She is <em>dead</em>,” Rhett snaps, slashing his knife through the air like a petulant child. “She is dead, and soon you will join her.” Tara grabs her from behind, twisting one arm behind her back, pressing her knife to Lexa’s throat, holding her tightly, waiting for Rhett to run her through.</p>
<p>“This is a test,” Lexa mutters. “I do not fail <em>heda’s </em>tests.” She hunches over abruptly, slamming her elbow into Tara’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her, shocking her enough that she loosens her grip. Free to move, Lexa blocks Rhett’s attack easily, slamming her forearm into his, grabbing the arm and twisting it until she hears a crack and he releases the knife with a cry of pain. Unfortunately, Lexa overestimates the amount of time Tara would be winded, because before she has the chance to finish Rhett off, she feels the girl jump onto her back, tackling her to the ground, Tara rolling off her the second they hit the icy dirt, not giving Lexa the chance to hit her again. Instead, before Lexa can even get her bearings, Tara is on her feet, kicking her repeatedly in the side, forcing Lexa to curl into a ball to avoid damage to her vital organs. She endures the heavy pummeling for a minute more, waiting for her chance, and then it comes: Tara’s kick lingers a second too long, and Lexa reaches out, grabs her leg and pulls, bringing her to the ground. Without giving herself any time to recover from the blows to her side, Lexa scrambles up, pulls out her knife, and straddles Tara, holding the knife above her heart, using her knees to pin the girl’s arms down.</p>
<p>“Do it then,” the girl spits, and Rhett—cradling his broken arm—has collapsed against a tree, watching them, waiting. “You want to be <em>heda</em>, don’t you?” The question is rhetorical, and Lexa snorts.</p>
<p>“You still don’t understand. I <em>am </em><em>heda</em>. But I never wanted to be.” Without giving herself time to think, she brings the knife down, and Tara’s mouth falls open, her head lolling to the side.</p>
<p>“She could have chosen any of us, you know,” Rhett says as Lexa gets to her feet shakily, walking over to him. “Two weeks ago, when they called me a Nightblood, my mentor told me I’d been chosen to die. But not you,” he laughs, the sound mirthless. Lexa crouches in front of him, her eyes on the arm he would never be able to use again. He is no threat, she knows that (he knows that). She could leave him here, let him take his chances on his own.</p>
<p>“Becoming <em>heda </em>is a death sentence. Just as sure as yours.” He grins, letting his head fall back against the tree. <em>Harden your heart, child</em>. <em>You will be great</em>. Lexa bites her lip and looks away as she slides her blade between his ribs, listening to that final gasp, listening as he expels his last breath (just like she listened to it with Glen, with Frieda, and somehow this is both the same and entirely different—both better, and far worse). She gets to her feet, trembling. “I am not sorry,” she mumbles to Rhett and Tara’s still bodies. “I am not sorry because I saved you. You will suffer no more.” She lets out a crazed laugh, shaking her head. “<em>Yu gonplei ste odon.” </em>Then, without looking back once, she shuffles away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cheering startles her the most.</p>
<p>The normally crowded streets are completely packed, people pushing one another to get a better look as Lexa walks through the path cleared for her. She swallows hard as old men and women press trinkets into her hands, as children rush forward with flowers, as heads are inclined and whispers of ‘<em>heda, heda, heda</em>’ follow her.</p>
<p>The smiles, the clapping, the laughter—she cannot make sense of it. <em>Your Commander just died! </em>she wants to cry. <em>Mourn her! </em>(But it is not in their nature to mourn a Commander who gave them war after needless war. It is not in their nature to feign sorrow when many—she thinks of the Eves and Rics of Polis—had considered the Commander to be a tyrant. Of course they are happy; they foolishly believe what the Commander believed: Lexa is somehow better.)</p>
<p>As she walks further into Polis, she notices people’s voices changing, their attention being diverted. She follows the eyes of the children walking along next to her and sees that the flame at the top of the tower has been relit. This only serves to increase the fervor of her people; their cheering becomes louder, somewhere in the distance, there is fast-paced beating of drums. (It is confirmation, a symbol of the Flame that would be passed to her tonight—it is Polis’s way of saying it refused to grieve long, refused to not remain strong.)</p>
<p>(It is ridiculous, and Lexa cannot bear to look at the flames for long.)</p>
<p>When she reaches the tower, Titus is waiting for her. Behind him are the Elders—the keepers and protectors of <em>Trikru </em>tradition and culture. Most of them are ancient, all of them look far too happy to be there, and it makes Lexa sick to her stomach.  </p>
<p>“Isolde was right about you, Lexa,” the woman closest to Titus says, her voice grating and thick. Lexa wonders how many Commanders she has seen die. “The Conclave merely proved what she already knew.”</p>
<p>“What now?”</p>
<p>“Tonight, you rest,” Titus says waving his hand and motioning for the Elders to leave them. “Tomorrow, you will receive the Flame.” Lexa swallows at the answer, but remains expressionless, pretending she does not feel her racing heart, pretending there is no tightness to her chest, pretending, pretending, pretending…</p>
<p>
  <em>It is time you get used to the hiding. </em>
</p>
<p>She closes her eyes briefly, allowing Titus to walk next to her as she heads towards her chambers. She is tired, her body aches, and she is quite sure she is still bleeding, yet when she turns slightly to look at Titus, she is unable to help it. The words spill from her lips despite her best attempts to hold them in.</p>
<p>“Was she good?” she asks, unsure what she is truly looking for, only knowing that the Commander is gone, leaving a gaping hole in her chest, leaving her cold and shivering and in desperate search of something to fill the void and provide some measure of warmth.</p>
<p>“She was <em>heda</em>,” he says, coming to stand to her left rather than the usual right, seemingly aware that Lexa is seconds away from hunching over and is merely preparing himself to catch her.</p>
<p>“But was she good?”</p>
<p>“When you knew her, was she good?”</p>
<p>“Don’t answer my question with a question of your own, Titus,” Lexa snaps, leaning against him. Yet, she finds herself answering him anyway. “That’s my problem. When I knew her, I always thought she was good. But what about before? Before me?” Titus gently grasps her hand and leads her through the tower, not saying a word when Lexa is no longer able to stand tall and he is forced to carry the entirety of her weight as they walk.</p>
<p>“She was <em>heda</em>, Lexa,” he repeats, his voice soft. “What does it matter what she was like before she met you?”</p>
<p>“Because if <em>heda </em>was not always good,” they have reached her room, and Titus motions for a healer to step forward, the young woman taking his place and helping Lexa to her bed before quickly tending to her wounds, “what does that say about me?” She thinks she is slurring her words, knows she is fighting a losing battle to stay awake, and yet she waits, waits for Titus’s response. </p>
<p>“You are special, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“You saw the good in Isolde even when she could not see it in herself.” He presses a gentle hand—so different from when she first met him, and he would press until bruises would form—to her shoulder. “Rest, <em>heda</em>. Tomorrow is Ascension Day.”</p>
<p>And with that, Lexa’s world goes black.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sleeps for only a few hours, the <em>Natblidas </em>she killed chasing her throughout her dreams, <em>heda’s </em>startling grey eyes following her endlessly as she ran.</p>
<p>Knowing she will have no rest tonight, she sneaks out of Polis, a bag tossed over her shoulder. The trip, on foot, takes no more than three hours, but she knows she must be back in Polis before the sun rises, so she moves as quickly and as silently as she can, knowing what she is doing is stupid.</p>
<p>But she does not care, she <em>has </em>to do this.</p>
<p>She is sweating by the time she arrives at her destination, sweating despite the cold, and she shivers with every gust of icy wind. Rubbing her hands together, she sets about starting a fire, sitting in front of it to warm her frozen toes and fingers. When she is warm again, feeling returning to her extremities, she turns her attention to the ruins of the village. Even in the dark—only illuminated by the moonlight and Lexa’s small fire—she can see the remnants of small metal huts, can see a partially burned down cabin, and she finds herself smiling. It reminds her of her own home, of mornings spent with her father, talking about farming and the honor in it, afternoons spent chasing butterflies with the other children and collecting flowers for her mother.</p>
<p>It reminds her of a simpler time, a time before her hands were stained red and her heart was tattered and torn into shreds.</p>
<p>But this is not her own home, she forcibly reminds herself, her smile slipping. This is a burned down village, a village overrun by the wisteria vine. No flowers grow now, the winter cold and harsh, but once spring arrives, Lexa is sure the smell will be overwhelming—forever hiding the terrible things that happened here, forever hiding the ugly story of why the village was burned to the ground, its people still in it.</p>
<p>
  <em>My only wish is to be buried in my village after my fight is finally over, among all those flowers.</em>
</p>
<p>With a laugh that sounds much more like a choked sob, Lexa pulls out the braid she cut, and using her fingers, she digs a small hole in the frozen dirt, reverently burying the lock of hair before getting to her feet and fighting back sobs.</p>
<p>“I know this is not what you had in mind, <em>heda</em>,” she says, tears blurring her vision. “But it is the best I could do. A part of you will be buried in your village, among the flowers you loved so.” She swallows hard, feeling ridiculous, speaking to herself in the middle of the night. “I loved you,” she whispers, even now—alone, no one to witness her weakness—the words come with difficulty. She closes her eyes, wiping her cheeks, knowing that this is the last time she can shed a tear for her <em>heda</em>, her Commander. <em>You are my </em>goufa<em>, my </em>yongon, she had said, and Lexa finds it in her to smile. “You were my <em>nomon</em>, and I loved you, <em>heda</em>. <em>Yu gonplei ste odon</em>.”</p>
<p>
  <em>I meant that you bring beauty to the world. That my stench will be hidden by your sweetness. Do you understand? You are my salvation.</em>
</p>
<p><em>No, </em>Lexa would respond now. <em>You were mine</em>.</p>
<p>She sniffs, wiping her cheeks once more, before she collapses next to her fire, unable to look away from the freshly dug patch of dirt, the makeshift grave for her Commander. She wonders what <em>heda </em>would think if she could see Lexa now—victorious at the Conclave, yet weak. (When the Commander said she never had to hide from her, did that also mean she had no need to hide from her ghost? Would it haunt her like Glen? Like Frieda?)</p>
<p>“What was it like,” a deep voice says, shocking Lexa into clambering to her feet, dagger gripped tightly in her hand, her eyes roving the darkness, “to have loved the woman who raised you?” A tall, broad young man steps into the light of her small fire, his long hair pulled back and tied tightly at the nape of his neck, eyes narrowed, one hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword, the other raised in a nonthreatening gesture. Lexa studies him for a moment, taking note of the blue and white tones in his clothing, the white fur that lines his vest, and the blue paint smeared on his left cheek. He is <em>Azgeda</em>, a member of the royal family (one that she already has had the misfortune of meeting).</p>
<p>“Sad,” she answers at length, dropping her hand but not her guard. “You’ve strayed far from your home, Prince Roan.” He lets out a laugh, mirthless and cold, shaking his head as he steps towards the fire and crouches down, warming his hands, his eyes focused on the flames.</p>
<p>“I got lost,” he says, shrugging easily. He turns to her, a small smile tugging on his lips, and Lexa sits back down, crossing her legs and leaning forward with her elbows propped up on her knees. She keeps her eyes determinedly on the flames, listening to the crackling and pops, barely breathing as she waits for Roan’s next move. “Did she love you?” he asks after nearly a minute of silence, and though Lexa desperately wants to turn to him, gauge his expression, she resists the urge.</p>
<p>“In her own way, yes.”</p>
<p>“And she still pushed you to be Commander?”</p>
<p>“This is my duty.” Roan snorts at her words, but Lexa refuses to rise to the bait. “You act as if you’ve never done something purely because it is your duty.” Roan laughs, this time genuinely, abandoning his crouch to lean back on his hands and elbows, feet dangerously close to the fire.</p>
<p>“You’re smart, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. How is it that the Spirit chose you?” Lexa turns to look at him briefly, regretting it immediately when he grins cheekily at her. She clenches her fists and shoves down the question burning and itching to break free from her lips, choosing to look up at the sky and let out a soft sigh instead. “Does no one notice Polis is missing its Commander? Especially as I hear it is Ascension Day.”</p>
<p>“Sunrise is not for some time. I planned to be back before they even noticed I was gone.”</p>
<p>“Planned? Do you still not intend to return?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Isn’t that why you’re here, Prince Roan?” she asks, turning to look at him once more, raising her eyebrows. “I assume my return depends entirely on you.”</p>
<p>“This wasn’t something I asked for, <em>heda</em>,” Roan says, the smile slipping from his lips. Lexa ducks her head, refocusing her attention on the fire.</p>
<p>“It never is, is it?” She feels Roan shift, but she remains still, unable to help the small sigh that escapes her lips when he merely mimics her and sits cross-legged in front of the fire. The question she has wanted to ask since he approached her begs to be released, but Lexa bites her lip, physically stopping herself from speaking. She would not break—not here, not now. “I can offer you protection, keep you in Polis,” she finds herself saying instead. She is unsurprised by the snort she gets in return.</p>
<p>“She wants you dead, you know,” he says casually, unbuckling his sheathed sword from his waist, handing it over to her. “I’m almost jealous, Commander.”</p>
<p>Lexa takes the sword, swallowing hard, understanding his choice and honoring it by not pressing him to take another way out. “She’s not yet learned her lesson?”</p>
<p>“My mother is not the type to be cowed by mere words, <em>heda</em>. She prefers death and destruction.”</p>
<p>“Then why?” she asks, the question bursting from her absolutely without her consent as she gets to her feet and watches Roan do the same. He shakes his arms and legs, huffing loudly, before stilling and fixing Lexa with a blank look.</p>
<p>“My mother wants you dead,” he says simply, as if that should be explanation enough. “You’ll have to make it look good.” Lexa unsheathes his blade, staring at the man before her with narrowed eyes.</p>
<p>“Why, Roan?” she repeats, needing to sate her curiosity now that the question escaped her despite her best efforts. “She wants you to take my place, you must know that.” He rolls his shoulders, jumps from foot to foot, and lets out a long sigh before he even looks like he is considering her question.</p>
<p>“I don’t do this for you, <em>heda</em>,” he says, raising his chin. “If she wants you dead, I need you alive. I do this for <em>me</em>.” Lexa nods, raising the blade above her head, keeping her eyes fixed on Roan. “Was it worth it?” he asks suddenly, tilting his head to the side, eyes on the freshly dug patch of dirt. For the first time, Lexa wonders just how much of her weakness he witnessed. “Caring for the Commander? Was it worth it?” For the first time, she wonders if he thinks it is weakness at all. She pauses only a moment before answering honestly.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she murmurs, and she brings the sword down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You must know it’s personal for Queen Nia,” Titus says, staring at Lexa disapprovingly. “You humiliated her in front of her people, of course she wants you dead. And you…traveling in the middle of the night, <em>alone</em>…?” He shakes his head, closing his eyes, as if Lexa has just shaved off a decade of his life. “It was foolish. What if Roan had decided to kill you?”</p>
<p>“The Queen should better train her assassins,” Anya says distastefully, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Titus. “She can barely understand her own son. She poses no threat.”</p>
<p>"<em>This </em>time, yes. But she won’t send Roan again, she will send someone who cares for nothing and no one. This is why she should have been <em>killed</em>. Allowing her to live will bring ruin on us all.”</p>
<p>“We all knew the risks, Titus,” Gustus says, his voice gruff. “But Lexa and the Commander accepted them. You would do well to do the same.”</p>
<p>“Lexa’s life is not a risk she can so hastily take!” Titus says, looking like he is close to losing control. Lexa—who had been sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for Anya, Gustus, and Titus to clear out so she could get some rest—finds herself vaguely interested for the first time. “You are to be <em>heda</em>, Lexa,” he continues, staring her down. “I would have thought that Isolde’s lessons better prepared you for this. Or did you kill Glen for nothing?” He does not wait for an answer, sweeping out of her chambers without a backwards glance, Gustus hot on his tail—clearly ready to argue in her name. Anya, however, remains. Dozens of questions are at the tip of Lexa’s tongue, ready to be asked, but instead she merely throws herself back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling in silence.</p>
<p>“Have you thought about that your Mark will be?” she asks when Lexa does not speak.</p>
<p>“Vaguely.”</p>
<p>“Are you prepared for tonight’s ceremony?”</p>
<p>“Not really.”</p>
<p>“Lexa, you—”</p>
<p>“I’m not in the mood for another lecture, Anya,” Lexa snaps, getting to her feet and brushing past her mentor. “Save it for later.” She can practically feel Anya’s glare on her back as she leaves, but she does not care.</p>
<p>(It is as if, she thinks, they all have forgotten what just happened. It is as if, she thinks, they were not there as the Commander’s body burned, were not there as the Commander breathed her last breath.)</p>
<p>She walks the halls of the Commander’s tower, scratching occasionally at her bandages, no real destination in mind. Mostly, she wants to avoid people, wants to be able to tear away that pain that has taken hold of her heart, wants to burn the memories of the woman who raised her if that meant taking away the ache lodged in her throat, in her chest.  </p>
<p>(It occurs to her, as she walks, that it is not the Commander’s tower, not anymore—that she will never read with the older woman in the library again, will never walk past her and stifle a laugh when she pulls a face, will never have her meals with her, sitting on opposite ends of the long table, will never <em>see </em>her again—and she is forced to roughly push the offending thought away, clenching her jaw, breathing deeply through her nose).</p>
<p>As she passes by the Commander’s quarters, masochistic enough to see the room in which the older woman had died, she notices that people are milling about. Lexa frowns and steps forward.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” she asks the first person she sees, a young girl—one of the Commander’s aides, the one she stole clothes from so long ago so that she would blend in when she ran through the streets of Polis with Costia, when she snuck out to swim in the lake.</p>
<p>“We are cleaning the room for you,” she answers, looking at Lexa like the response should have been obvious. For a second, Lexa can do nothing but stare blankly—first at the girl and then at the room—but then she feels white, hot rage consume her.</p>
<p>“No!” She rushes forward, grabbing the stack of books one of the aides was removing from the room and carries it back to the spot it came from. “Don’t touch anything. Leave this be.”</p>
<p>“But <em>heda</em>—”</p>
<p>“Get out! Leave! Now!” The aides incline their heads and swiftly walk away, whispering amongst themselves, but Lexa cannot bring herself to care. She cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot feel anything other than a fierce desire to <em>leave this be</em>. Her legs feel like jelly and she collapses onto the edge of the Commander’s bed, smoothing out the blankets and furs, knowing the last time she was here—the last time she sat by this bed—was when the Commander was dying, when she spoke her last words: <em>Harden your heart, child. You will be great.</em></p>
<p>“They were preparing this room for you, Lexa. There was no need to yell at them.” She does not look up at her mentor’s voice, instead, she looks down, hiding her weakness. (<em>It is time you get used to the hiding.)  </em></p>
<p>“I am happy with the room I have.”</p>
<p>“But that is not <em>heda’s </em>quarters.” Anya’s tone is soft, kind despite Lexa’s outburst, and she has no idea if it means forgiveness from her mentor or if Anya never actually took offense (she pushes away the thought that Anya is now her subordinate, that she has to bury her ire with Lexa now, unable to express it, because that is something Lexa is not even willing to consider—not yet, probably not ever).</p>
<p>“And I am not <em>heda</em>.” She means that she is not the Commander, she is not the woman who raised her, the woman who was so strong, so brave, so very selfless. And Anya, her mentor, her sister, her friend, <em>her subordinate, </em>understands this immediately. </p>
<p>“It is all right to cry, Lexa,” she says softly, kneeling in front of Lexa, taking her hands in her own. “It is all right to shed tears for the Commander.”</p>
<p>“I become <em>heda </em>tonight, I must be strong.”</p>
<p>“I know, my little—” She stops, her nickname for Lexa no longer appropriate. “I know, Lexa,” she says, starting over. “But you are also a girl who has just lost the closest thing she had to a mother. So it is all right to cry.” Lexa feels her eyes well up with hot tears, but rather than blink them away, she lets them fall, rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto her hand. Without letting herself think about it, she leans forward, accepting Anya’s embrace, burying her face in her mentor’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“How will I do this without her?” she asks weakly, clutching at Anya.</p>
<p>“Death is not the end, Lexa. She lives on in you.”</p>
<p>“Do you promise?” she asks, sounding so much like a child that she cringes. “Do you promise?”</p>
<p>“I swore I would never lie to you, child,” she says, holding Lexa tighter, not mentioning the tears that must be soaking through her shirt. “She is with you, I promise.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ceremony is small, consisting of Anya, Gustus, Titus, and the Elders who follow him.</p>
<p>Anya had helped her with the warpaint, applying it slowly and carefully around Lexa’s eyes—careful to mimic the exact way the Commander once wore it. But Lexa, still shedding silent tears, accidentally streaked the paint down her cheeks, and neither of them moved to fix it. (Anya had murmured it made her look more fearsome, but thinking on it now, Lexa knows that to be a half-truth at best—if anything, the streaks make her feel more human, a secret between herself and Anya, that <em>heda</em>can cry, that <em>heda</em><em>does</em>cry.)  They also told her about the tattoo that would mark her as the Commander, a sideways figure eight, the sacred symbol of <em>heda</em>. (And if Lexa gave the man two other designs—one for her arm and one for her back—no one batted an eye.) Gustus was the one who fastened the shoulder guard, who tied the red cloth (the fabric meant to symbolize blood) onto it, so that it flowed behind her.</p>
<p>She walks into the war room, the throne room, the highest floor of the tower, her head held high, back straight, shoulders stiff, and does nothing more than swallow hard when everyone—even Anya, who had once held back her hair as she puked after getting ill, and Gustus, who had laughed when Lexa had run through the muddied streets of Polis after a particularly bad rain—fall to their knees, inclining their heads. She tries not to think at all as she sits down on the Commander’s wooden throne (<em>her </em>throne now, she supposes, though that just sounds wrong), and waits for Titus to rise. He does so, agonizingly slowly, and approaches her with a small box in one hand, a small, glittering knife in the other.</p>
<p>“This will be over quickly, Lexa,” he says softly, and Gustus removes the shoulder guard, Anya pulls back her hair, and Titus very gently tilts her head forward. She is careful not to blink, not to breathe, not to budge as she feels the tip of Titus’s knife on the back of her neck, feels it come down, feels the eruption of pain and the hot blood on her skin. There is a pause, shifting and shuffling, and then she feels a pressure—as if Titus as pressed something into the cut. Rather than relieve the pain, it becomes exponentially worse, and Lexa cannot help the small grunt that escapes her. Even worse than the pain, however, is the sudden heaviness—the flashing, the sounds, the voices, the memories that are not her own, flooding her mind and impairing all her senses. She feels herself collapse forward, held up only by Anya’s strong arms. “The Flame must choose you, yes,” Titus says in her ear, his voice barely heard over the cacophony in her mind, the deluge of emotions she has never felt, things she has never seen, pain she has never experienced, “but you must also choose it. Stop fighting the Spirit, Lexa. It will choose wisely.” For a second, Lexa’s fists clench, her heart hardens, and she has half a mind to pull whatever wretched thing Titus has placed in her neck right out. But the moment passes quickly, and instead Lexa thinks of the Commander, of her sad, grey eyes, and all her resistance comes to an earthshattering halt, overpowered by the sensations she cannot comprehend (and somewhere, among the vast array of voices and faces, she thinks she catches a glimpse of grey eyes, thinks she hears a whisper about being the rain).</p>
<p>She gives in, and the assault on her mind comes to an abrupt end.</p>
<p>She blinks a few times, gently pulling away from Anya and ignoring Titus’s concerned huff, and reaches out to touch the back of her neck. The wound as been sown up—though she is not quite sure when Titus did it, is not quite sure how much time has passed since the Flame was passed to her—and it aches beneath her fingers, though no more than her head pounds from the effort it takes to just remain sitting up. She pulls her hand away, studying the blood on her fingers, eyes widening when she finds her fingers are coated with something that is not blood at all.</p>
<p>“It’s <em>black</em>,” she says, feeling her heart rate skyrocket, feeling the pressure build in her head as dozens of indecipherable and unintelligible voices attempt to say something at once. “What did you do to me?”</p>
<p>“You are a <em>Natblida</em>,” Titus says, raising his eyebrows when Lexa looks up at him. “What did you think that meant?”</p>
<p>“My blood is <em>red</em>.”</p>
<p>“And it still is red. I do not know what causes the darkness, Lexa,” he says, pressing a bandage to the back of her neck, “but when the Flame chooses someone worthy of it, <em>natblida </em>flows.” He gives her a comforting smile. “It is only around the wound, and it does not last. Do not worry, Lexa. It only means you are a success—Isolde was right about you, after all.” Lexa frowns and struggles to her feet, ignoring Anya’s offer of help and Titus’s worried glances. “Perhaps you should not move so soon,” Titus warns when she wavers a little. “You need your rest, it may not be so easy to come by from here on out. You’re <em>heda </em>now.” She ignores him once more and walks towards the balcony, opening the doors wide and stepping out, allowing the wind to clear her mind and wash away the pain.</p>
<p>She hears drums in the distance, their beats fast and frenzied, much different from the slow beat of when the Commander died. People scream and shout, and even from far above, she can see, hear, taste, feel, and smell what is going on below. She is somehow sure there is whistling, that children are laughing as candies and incense are lit, as fruits and toys are passed around. She is somehow sure how her people fare.</p>
<p><em>You’re </em>heda <em>now. </em></p>
<p>Lexa takes a deep breath, the air slightly warmer, spring fast approaching, even the faint scent of flowers meeting her nostrils—she thinks maybe it is all in her mind, or maybe it comes from the Commander’s garden. <em>(“Have you heard?” the people ask in the streets.) </em>She takes another breath. <em>(“Have you heard?” the people ask in the streets of Polis, the joyful, loud, crowded streets. “Have you heard about the Commander’s favorite?”) </em>Lexa stares down at her people, people she is now responsible for, people she now belongs to. <em>(“Have you heard?” the people ask in the streets of Polis, their voices proud, their tones gleeful. “Have you heard the Commander’s favorite, the hero of the </em>Trikru<em>, has become </em>heda?”)</p>
<p><em>(Yes, </em>Lexa says with them. <em>Yes. I am </em>heda <em>now.) </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: I made myself laugh by playing alanis morissette's ironic while rereading this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa licks her parched lips, eying the cup in front of her warily, unwilling to take it yet unwilling to push it away. Even though she is indoors—in the war room, the room Isolde spent so much time in, the very walls still permeating with her presence, her voice still lingering, still echoing around the room, as if she never left—the heat is suffocating and stifling. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and neck, wincing a little when her hand brushes the scar, then sits back, her eyes still on the cup yet her attention on the woman sitting across from her.</p>
<p>“My people are dying, <em>heda</em>,” she says, leaning back in her chair as well, eyebrows raised. From the corner where she stands, one hand on her sword, Anya growls threateningly, its menace losing a bit of its power due to the exhaustion from the pervasive and unyielding heat. Thus, Luna is unaffected.</p>
<p>“My people are dying as well, Luna. You forget, this is an alliance—what I have is yours and what you have is mine,” Lexa says, not giving the woman the chance to snap back at Anya.</p>
<p>“Then how do you plan on fixing this?” Luna asks, snapping at Lexa instead. She eyes her own untouched cup as well, desire and reluctance in her eyes. “Will you be like Isolde, content to bear all, lashing out when personally affronted or when the Queen orders you to, or will you be like the other clan leaders, attacking to get what you need?” Lexa sighs, crossing her legs and leaning even further back in the Commander’s—no, <em>her—</em>chair. (She is Commander now, she reminds herself for the millionth time. She is Commander now.)</p>
<p>“What would you have me do?” Her shirt sticks to her skin uncomfortably, and when she shifts, rolling up her sleeves, trying desperately not to fan herself, she notices Luna’s eyes focus on the tattoo on her upper right arm. The design is fairly simple, merely two swirls set parallel to one another, boxed into their positions. Luna eyes it, but does not comment, and Lexa offers no explanation. She does not say that it is for her Commander. She does not say it symbolizes what she has lost. A mother, a mentor, a leader, the <em>heda </em>(her <em>heda</em>)<em>.</em></p>
<p> (<em>You are the Commander</em>, she reminds herself forcefully, shaking away her previous thoughts. <em>You.</em>)  </p>
<p>“I don’t know, Lexa. I’m here to confer with you.”</p>
<p>“You’re here to convince me to plunge our people into another war.” From the back, Anya snorts in agreement, and Luna scowls.</p>
<p>“Yes, perhaps, but our people are dying of thirst while you sit and do nothing.” Lexa sighs once more, looking away from the cup and meeting Luna’s eyes, finding it in her to let out a soft chuckle. “This amuses you?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s just that…Isolde used to say that I was the rain after a drought. I think she would appreciate the irony of our situation.”</p>
<p>“I don’t find it amusing or ironic that it has not rained since you became <em>heda</em>, Lexa. I find it troublesome.”</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me you believe the rumors, Luna.” At the woman’s surprised look, Lexa laughs again, close to rolling her eyes. “You thought I wouldn’t hear? The whispers are not as quiet as you’d like to think they are.” She gives Luna a lazy smile, exuding a self-confidence she does not feel. “I imagine you would know better than to think curses exist.”</p>
<p>“I know that,” she says, giving into the urge Lexa did not and rolling her eyes. “But our people? They may be convinced.” Anya growls again at the thinly veiled threat, but Lexa just rubs her temples with the tips of her index fingers.</p>
<p>“Tell me, then. Tell me what you would do.”</p>
<p>“I would attack the Ice Nation. Take their water. Bring an end to the rumors that the Ice Queen has holed herself up in her palace now that her assassination attempts have failed, attempting to use curses to doom your time as <em>heda.</em>”</p>
<p>“You supported my idea to spare Nia,” Lexa accuses, frowning at how eerily similar Luna sounds to Titus at this moment. “What changed?”</p>
<p>“My people weren’t in danger then, they are now. I refuse to allow this drought to be the end of us.” Lexa swallows, knowing on some level that Luna is right, yet reluctant to fight a war just to take what she needed from a battered and beaten clan. She eyes the cup once more.</p>
<p>“The Lake People have water—they’re near the fresh water lakes.” Luna nods, leaning forward.</p>
<p>“The Ice Nation would be easier to take, they are weak, the Lake People are strong—”</p>
<p>“No, Luna, you misunderstand. I don’t plan on taking anything. Scouts have brought back reports that Reapers are overrunning the Lake People. We offer them aid—we rid them of their problem, and they give us water.” Luna frowns, something flickering in her eyes.</p>
<p>“What guarantees do you have that they will not use us and merely take advantage? How do you know they will part with their resource?”</p>
<p>“None. But I am trusting that their leader is like you, willing to see reason, willing to see less blood shed.” Luna blinks at the answer, then purses her lips.</p>
<p>“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You have a bleeding heart, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. You are strange, and I fear you do not know what that means.” She gives in, leans forward and picks up the cup, draining the water in large gulps.</p>
<p>Later, after Luna has gone to speak with her advisors and warriors about the plan, Lexa turns to Anya with a grim smile, motioning for her to walk as they speak, her own cup of precious water in her hand. “You think I’m being foolish, don’t you,” she states, not allowing Anya to look away and hide the truth in her eyes. They exit the Commander’s—no, <em>her</em>—tower, entering the streets of Polis, eyeing the people with dry lips and exhausted eyes.</p>
<p>“Yes, I do,” Anya says, her voice growing quiet. “But that does not mean you are wrong.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want people to die over water, Anya. I don’t want a war because of a drought.” Anya purses her lips, sighing just a little.</p>
<p>“Oh, I know, <em>heda</em>. I know.” Lexa tries not to cringe at the title, at the honorific she is not yet used to, but she knows she has not been successful when Anya’s pursed lips turn into a slightly amused smile. “One thing I agree on with Luna is that you are strange,” she says, and Lexa does not meet her eyes as she gives her cup of water to the first thirsting child she sees, unable to quench her own desires while her people suffer so. “But that is not a bad thing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you think Luna will agree with you?” Costia asks, looking up at Lexa, her chest heaving. She drops the sword in her hand, then collapses onto the ground, lying on her back and leaving herself completely open—much like she did the first time they met. Costia had ignored Lexa’s warnings that it was too hot to spar, but she looks like she agrees now.</p>
<p>“I hope she will. We’ll need their help.”</p>
<p>“You know the drought is not your fault, right?” Lexa blinks, only momentarily surprised that Costia would have noticed her doubts. “There is no such thing as a curse. There is a man who studies the weather. He claims that such dry seasons are common, normal.”</p>
<p>“What man?”</p>
<p>“I know you are <em>heda </em>now, Lexa, but Isolde’s old laws still stand. I won’t put you in that position again.” Lexa raises her eyebrows, fighting off a smile.</p>
<p>“So you are spending time with lawbreakers again,” she says wryly, trying to be stern.</p>
<p>“Who said I ever stopped?”</p>
<p>“Costia.” The admonishment falls of deaf ears, however, because Costia just grins at Lexa, her dark eyes alight.</p>
<p>“I know you think it isn’t necessary for our survival and that we can’t change. But you’re wrong. You’re wrong, Lexa, but it’s all right, because I would still follow you wherever you lead.” Lexa rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the mocking over-effusive tone as she kicks Costia’s foot lightly.</p>
<p>“With frequent detours to see men who study the weather,” Lexa mutters, and Costia snorts.</p>
<p>“Well, of course. I can’t change <em>completely</em>.” Lexa laughs despite herself, and she moves so that she’s sitting next to Costia, her hand brushing Costia’s fingertips.</p>
<p>“I never said we can’t change,” she says, feeling serious suddenly. “But Costia, I don’t think I’ll be the one who will bring about the change you want.” Instead of becoming somber and disappointed like Lexa expects, Costia’s grin only grows.</p>
<p>“I have faith in you, <em>heda</em>. I always have. No matter what you do, what you accomplish, you will be great.” </p>
<p>“You know I belong to my people. You know this, right, Costia?” It is a warning, a promise, a sort of push, but once again, Costia does not react as Lexa is expecting her to.</p>
<p>“I do, Lexa. But I belong to you, and that is all that matters.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Explain this to me one more time, Titus,” she says slowly, trying and failing to keep the anger from her voice. Titus bows low, seemingly aware of her temper, and calmly repeats himself.</p>
<p>“Several villages to the south and west of Polis have declared themselves…independent.” Lexa grinds her teeth together, waiting for Titus to continue, blood pounding in her ears. “They claim they do not recognize you as <em>heda</em>, claim that they wish to ride out this curse on their own.”</p>
<p>“This is not your fault, <em>heda</em>,” Gustus says quickly, stepping forward. Lexa barely spares him a glance, barely shifts in the wooden throne, but Gustus stops, looking wary. “It is not on you. Besides, it’s a simple matter to quell the rebellion. The Boat Clan has several hundred warriors near the area.”</p>
<p>“There was no drought before I became <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“They speak of the curse merely as an excuse, <em>heda</em>,” Titus explains, staring at Gustus oddly. “You have newly Ascended. It is common for the people to test their new <em>heda’s </em>strength.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t your fault,” Gustus insists when Lexa’s hands clench into fists. “You inherited these problems.” He does not say from whom, and for that, Lexa is grateful.</p>
<p>“And is that my excuse to repeat the mistakes that caused them in the first place?” she asks, and silence meets her ears. She knows what Gustus wants her to do, what Titus wants, but she refuses to allow a few villages to bully her into making a choice she is not comfortable with. “I will not quell uprisings by killing my people with those of another clan.” Her tone grows hard, her fingernails dig into her palms, and the ever-present whispers in her head ebb to barely a buzz. “These villagers had courage enough to stand against me. I will not dishonor them by sending Boat Clan warriors their way.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, if I—”</p>
<p>“You and Gustus will go to these villages,” she interrupts, not wanting to listen to whatever advice Titus has ready for her. “You will tell their leaders they have until I return from my time with the Lake People. If they do not lay down their swords, I will kill them myself.”</p>
<p>“Time with the Lake People? <em>Heda</em>, you could not possibly—”</p>
<p>“—go and secure resources my people need myself? But that is exactly what I’m doing, Titus. I’m <em>heda</em>, the responsibility falls on me.”</p>
<p>“But—” She raises her hand and Titus falls silent, though he purses his lips with obvious disapproval.</p>
<p>“Go, make your preparations. And tell Rox that he will be coming with me.” Titus nods and sweeps out of the room, leaving her alone with a worried looking Gustus.</p>
<p>“This is not a good idea, <em>heda</em>,” Gustus says, crossing his arms over his chest, his look of disapproval familiar. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”</p>
<p>“Oh Gustus, you worry too much,” Lexa says, letting out a soft sigh and unclenching her fists. “I am <em>heda </em>now, this is my duty.”</p>
<p>“Your duty is to stay alive for your people. Isolde would never have allowed you to put yourself in harm’s way like this. Send me or Anya to speak for you.” Lexa stares at him with a forced smile, pushing back the wave of despair and pain that threatens to overwhelm her at the casual mention of Isolde.</p>
<p>“I am <em>heda</em>,” she repeats. “I speak for my people.”</p>
<p>“Send Luna.”</p>
<p>“Luna is quick to jump at war. The idea of her speaking on my behalf makes me restless.”</p>
<p>“And you do not trust her,” Gustus guesses, and Lexa nods easily, getting to her feet and unfastening the shoulder guard, feeling its cumbersome weight fall away, her back no longer struggling beneath it.</p>
<p>“Luna is a good ally, she will not stand against us.” She smiles slightly. “If only because she knows she needs us.” Without allowing Gustus to see how relieved she is without the shoulder guard—without letting him see her weakness—she shrugs awkwardly. “But she will also plunge us all into war to save her people.”</p>
<p>“Then she is like Isolde.” Gustus raises an eyebrow. “You like her, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“I do. She is clever, sure of herself, quick to do anything for her people. But she is not like Isolde.” Lexa smiles grimly, swallowing back emotion. “There are none like Isolde.”</p>
<p>“There are none like you, <em>heda</em>. Please, allow me or Anya to go in your stead—or at least accompany you. For protection.”</p>
<p>“Rox will be more than enough protection. This is a diplomatic trip, I only wish to speak with the Lake People’s leader. Bringing more warriors may send the wrong message.”</p>
<p>“And if something happens, Lexa?” Gustus asks, dropping the title, letting Lexa know he is now serious, now <em>begging</em>. “The Spirit is in <em>you </em>now. You must carry it until it is time for it to move on to another.”</p>
<p>“I have no intention of dying, Gustus. But I will not take an army with me. And Anya must stay here in Polis, take care of matters while both Titus and I are gone.” Gustus opens his mouth, clearly about to argue some more, when there is a knock on the door and Wennin allows Costia to step in. She is sweaty (they all are sweaty), her lips cracked and dry, a gauntness to her cheeks that was not there several days ago. More and more of the warriors were going with as little water as possible, trying to imitate their Commander, trying to ensure their people have enough to drink. (Lexa dislikes the practice, but no amount of arguing has convinced any of her warriors to cease the new habit: “You are <em>heda</em>, we follow your example,” they said, bowing their heads, tired eyes full of a respect Lexa has not yet earned.)</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, should I come back?” Costia asks carefully, looking to Gustus and then back to Lexa with wide eyes, obviously sensing the tension in the room. Lexa shakes her head.</p>
<p>“No. Gustus was merely expressing his worries.” She turns to him, giving him the smallest of smiles, reminiscent of the grins he would giver her during the war meetings with Isolde, when Lexa felt out of place, insignificant. “Trust me, Gustus. I know what must be done for my people, what is at stake.”</p>
<p>“Very well,” he says, his voice gruff. “I will tell Rox to prepare.” Lexa stifles a laugh, knowing that what he really wants to do is lecture Rox on the multitude of dangers they were sure to come into contact with on their trip, knowing full well that Titus has likely already spoken to Rox at length on the matter. She does not comment, however, letting him leave her the same way he came: grumbling and discontented.</p>
<p>“He’s right, you know. It’s dangerous for <em>heda </em>to be out alone.”</p>
<p>“Eavesdropping, Costia?” Lexa questions, no real bite to her tone.</p>
<p>“Only a little. Wennin helped.” She steps over to Lexa, standing right in front of her, so close that their chests almost brush. “Sometimes, I wish you were not <em>heda</em>. I wish…” She trails off, looking sheepish, shaking her head violently.</p>
<p>“You wish what?” Lexa prods.</p>
<p>“I wish we could be safe. That we could run away, never look back.”</p>
<p>“I belong to my people.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Costia says, her tone snappish, annoyed. “I know,” she repeats, softer this time, laced with regret. “That’s why I said I wished.” Lexa is silent, her heart hammering in her chest, fear creeping in and invading and tainting her every thought, her every action. <em>It is not weakness to be afraid, </em>she can hear Isolde saying, as if no time has passed at all, as if the older woman stands beside her, a hand on her shoulder, a smile on her face. <em>But you must never let your fear govern your actions. </em>Lexa sighs, and she does not close the little distance between them, does not dare to reach out and intertwine their fingers.</p>
<p>“Costia, I expect nothing from you.” The six words make Costia turn away from the floor she had become terribly interested in, her wide eyes focused on Lexa instead. She does what Lexa could not; she reaches out and takes Lexa’s hand, her thumb on Lexa’s pulse point, the rest of her fingers wrapped around Lexa’s palm. “There is a reason Isolde was alone, why the <em>heda </em>is always alone.” Costia opens her mouth, but with a slight shake of Lexa’s head, she is silenced. “You say you belong to me. But I don’t want that. Do you understand? I would never ask you to give up everything for me.”</p>
<p>“But I want to.”</p>
<p>“No, Costia. I have grown up with this burden, I understand it. You don’t know what you’re asking for, what sacrifices you’re making.”</p>
<p>“Lexa…” But she has nothing to say, all her arguments dying on her lips. This just makes Lexa shrug.</p>
<p>“For whatever it’s worth, Costia, I wish too.” She leans over, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the other girl’s forehead before stepping back and picking up the Commander’s—no, <em>her</em>—shoulder guard, buckling it back on. With one last smile at the still girl—at her gaping mouth, her wide eyes—Lexa turns and walks out the door (stopping only long enough to explain to Wennin that teaching everyone how to eavesdrop defeated the purpose of having him stand guard in the first place).  </p>
<p><em>Having feelings does not make you weak, Lexa</em>, she can hear Isolde say in her gentle way, with her kind grey eyes. Except, she thinks, the statement was not intended for her—it was a way for Isolde to convince <em>herself</em>, to live with <em>herself</em>. It was a way to rationalize the fact that she had a soft spot for a child from a small village, a child she had grown to care for like she was her own. <em>Succumbing to them, allowing them to rule your actions, </em>that <em>makes you weak. </em>Lexa understands now, can make sense of it now. After all, despite all of Isolde’s love—the little love she was still capable of feeling—she still condemned Lexa to be <em>heda, </em>still thrust responsibility and pain onto her shoulders. <em>You are the one good thing that has happened to me since I became </em>heda. <em>The one good thing. </em></p>
<p>Lexa closes her eyes, shifts directions, and walks up to the room she had studiously avoided since she noticed the aides removing Isolde’s belongings. She opens the door with some trepidation, noting that as she ordered, everything has been left alone, untouched since that day—untouched, basically, since the Commander, no <em>Isolde</em>, was alive. She walks around the room aimlessly, letting the tips of her fingers brush against the dust covered tomes, breathing in the long since washed out scent of the woman who raised her.</p>
<p><em>Harden your heart, child. You will be great</em>.</p>
<p>With a sigh, Lexa takes the first book she sees—suddenly remembering how Isolde never left Polis without a book in hand, something to read even during war—and tucks it gently under her arm. “What would you do, <em>heda</em>?” she whispers, allowing her uncertainty, her fear, her worries bubble out of her as her eyes fall on the spot she had last seen the Commander alive. “Would you go to war as Luna says? I need your help.”</p>
<p>There is no answer, but then, Lexa did not expect one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Anya offered to train Tris while we are away,” Rox says in lieu of a greeting. He grins slightly, leading their horses by their reins, his steps sure and strong despite his cracked lips and obvious thirst. “She claims that she needs a stubborn, hotheaded second as she’s lost her last one.”</p>
<p>“She hasn’t lost me.”</p>
<p>“You’re <em>heda</em>now,” he says, his grin widening. “Technically, Anya has no second anymore.”</p>
<p>“She has agreed to stay with me until I reach my eighteenth summer.”</p>
<p>“To give the illusion that you’ve completed your training?”</p>
<p>“I <em>have </em>completed my training. I started before any of the others. She remains in Polis to advise me.” Rox looks down at her, his eyes—their mother’s eyes—boring into her knowingly, making Lexa uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“I understand,” he says finally, not elaborating further (but Lexa knows, knows that he <em>does </em>understand, and somehow, she is both thrilled and terrified by that fact). “Well, shall we go, <em>heda</em>?” Lexa glares at him, offended by the honorific, offended that her brother is grinning down at her, both aware of the discomfort he was causing and not caring.</p>
<p>“You may be older and wiser than me, Rox, but you’re a <em>branwada.” </em>This makes Rox laugh, the sound loud, joyful, and Lexa realizes she has not heard it in some time—in fact, she has not heard a real laugh from him since they were children (but then, she too has not laughed in the way she used to when they chased each other among wildflowers, their mother tutting at them in exasperation).</p>
<p>“For shame, Lexa. What would the people say if they heard their <em>heda </em>speaking so?”</p>
<p>“They would agree with me,” Lexa replies, raising her eyebrows, and Rox laughs again as he mounts his horse, not bothering to ask if Lexa wants help as Gustus is wont to do. She feels a surge of affection for Rox, and she mounts the animal easily, taking the reins from her brother, and digging in with her heels. “Did you say goodbye to Tris?” she asks, and when he looks at her, he clearly knows what she is really asking.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says softly, his grin gone, his laughter nothing but a shadow. “I did.” He pauses, as if debating whether or not to speak, but then he lets out a sigh and speaks. “Did you? Say goodbye to anyone?”  </p>
<p>“I am <em>heda</em>,” she says, echoing what he said earlier, and she focuses her eyes away from him, their horses trotting forward at a leisurely pace. “I have no one.” She thinks of Costia, of her silence, of Gustus and Anya and their disapproval, and then of Titus and his pursed lips, and she hardens her heart, ignoring her brother’s sympathetic glances her way. “<em>Heda </em>must always be alone.”</p>
<p>They do not speak until night falls and they set up camp, at which point Rox offers her a piece of dried meat that leaves Lexa regretting each bite, the food cutting into her dry throat. It is after he sits up against his pack, clearly on first watch, that he finally speaks up. “You’re not alone, Lexa.” She does not respond, and he turns his attention back to their surroundings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who’s the girl?”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“The one you spend most of your time with. That second.” The day is hot, the sun’s rays shining unforgivingly down on their backs, and Lexa—for what felt like the thousandth time—wipes sweat from her forehead, blinking away the few drops that have fallen into her eyes. Reluctantly, she takes the waterskin Rox offers her—the other one long since finished, half of their precious water already gone—and takes small sips, trying to alleviate the burning and throbbing of her parched throat.</p>
<p>“Her name is Costia.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but who is she?”</p>
<p>“A…friend, I suppose. Or she used to be.” Rox laughs, taking the waterskin back and taking a small sip himself.</p>
<p>“You care for her,” he says, grinning.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Don’t do that. I can tell, there’s that look on your face. I have it too.”</p>
<p>“What?” Lexa repeats, and Rox grins even wider, for the first time, looking genuinely happy.</p>
<p>“I met her soon after you became <em>heda</em>. Her name is Wren, and she is a healer, kind like mother, strong like father, and selfless like you. I care for her, like you care for this Costia.”</p>
<p>“You have a wife?” </p>
<p>“Not yet. But when we get back, yes. I think I will marry her.”</p>
<p>“I am happy for you, <em>bro</em>. Truly. You deserve all the happiness.”</p>
<p>“So do you.”</p>
<p>“I am <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“Ah, Lexa,” he laughs, shaking his head. “That’s beginning to sound like an excuse.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can read,” Rox states. It is the third night of their trip, their last night before reaching the Lake People’s chieftain. They light a small fire, the night far cooler than either of them had expected, when Lexa pulls out the book, reading slowly and carefully.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda </em>taught me how.”</p>
<p>“She was smart.”</p>
<p>“And brave, and strong, and selfless. She was everything I am not.”</p>
<p>“Your people disagree.” This makes Lexa look up in shock, the book in her hands suddenly forgotten.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Your people disagree,” Rox repeats, shrugging. He sighs when Lexa continues to stare at him with a confused expression and elaborates, “You forget, I live among the people of Polis. I speak with them. And they say you are the harbinger of a new age, a new life. Your alliance with Luna keeps them safer, keeps their stomachs full. And now, rather than go to war, you risk yourself to barter with the Lake People. Your people love you, and you have been <em>heda </em>only for a few months.”</p>
<p>“There are rumors that the drought is a curse set upon me by the Ice Queen. There are reports that entire villages refused to accept me as their <em>heda. </em>What do my people say about that?”</p>
<p>“They say they pity the Ice Queen, that their <em>heda </em>is too strong and impressive to fall to such childish tricks. And they say that the people in those villages are fools to deny the hero of the <em>Trikru </em>as their <em>heda</em>.”  Rox leans back, his hands pillowing his head, and he stares up at the night sky. “I would say that <em>heda’s </em>only problem is that she refuses to see what she truly is.”</p>
<p>“And what’s that, Rox?” He is silent for so long, Lexa is sure that he will not answer. But then, as the fire dies down and their faces are hidden by the darkness, she hears him shift.</p>
<p>“An anomaly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are surrounded by nearly a dozen men, swords drawn out, and Rox growls, his grip on his own blade tight. Lexa puts a hand on his arm, shaking her head slightly. “<em>Chek au</em>,” she says. “<em>Chil daun, bro</em>.” With a grunt, Rox lowers his weapon, and the men surrounding them follow suit.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda Leksa</em>,” a portly man says, shuffling forward. “I have heard a great number of things about you.”</p>
<p>“Chieftain Gavin,” she says, standing her ground with Rox to her right. She stands tall, imitating the regal behavior of the Commander before her, hoping her warpaint and shoulder guard are enough to hide her young age. “The Lake People keep to themselves. We hear nothing of you.”</p>
<p>“Ah, but you knew about our Reapers,” he chides, wagging a finger. Lexa stares blankly at him and he drops his hand, suddenly looking ruffled. With a wave of his hand, he indicates for the two of them to follow him, and they walk through the village towards the Chieftain’s home. Unlike the Tree People, the Lake People had limited access to lumber, thus, their homes were made of clay and straw, making the structures sturdy and cool, despite the unforgiving heat. They were a humble people, their homes packed together—small, modest and unobtrusive. Even the Chieftain’s home was no different from all the others. Lexa finds that she likes it, the equality, the sameness. “What made you begin the alliance with the Boat Clan?” Gavin suddenly asks, running his fingers through his wild hair, stopping and turning to look at Lexa carefully. Behind him, children gather, their heads tilted towards each other, whispering and pointing. Men and women pause their work to glance up at the newcomer, and Lexa finds herself actively resisting the urge to reach up and touch the scar on the back of her neck.</p>
<p>“To keep my people safe,” she answers, well aware that the villagers are listening in, well aware of the tension of the people surrounding her.</p>
<p>“And Luna? What did she get from it?” Gavin asks, swallowing hard, clearly aware of the mood as well. Lexa wonders what has happened to cause such strain on the Lake People.</p>
<p>“What I have is hers and what she has is mine.” He nods, letting out a sigh.</p>
<p>“I want that as well,” he tells her, stepping closer.</p>
<p>“An alliance?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “My people are proud. We live here in relative safety, free from all your wars and problems. We worry mostly about the Mountain Men.” He pauses, rubbing his eyes before motioning for them to enter the home. To Lexa’s relief, to their immediate right, on a table, there is a large pitcher of water. Gavin must notice where their eyes are, because he chuckles. “Yes, yes, please drink. I need you both alive if I am to make this work.”</p>
<p>“Make what work?” Lexa asks, taking the cup of water Rox hands her, but not drinking.</p>
<p>“My people are proud, <em>heda</em>,” he repeats, pouring himself a cup of water as well, “and they choose to suffer in silence. Food is becoming harder and harder to find, we are overrun by Reapers, and the closest village—your Tondc—refuses to send us aid anymore for fear of losing more men.”</p>
<p>“You have been receiving aid from Tondc?”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course. Did you not know?” Lexa closes her eyes, fighting to keep her frown in check.</p>
<p>“It slipped my mind,” she lies smoothly. “I have been out in the heat for days.” Gavin chuckles, and Lexa’s grip on her cup tightens.</p>
<p>“I will offer you all the water you could possibly need if only you bring my people into your alliance, convince them that it is the best option.”</p>
<p>“I am not their leader, you are. That is your job.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, please. You must understand.” He looks fairly nervous, moving further into the home and motioning for Lexa to follow him, pulling out a chair for her and sitting across from her. Rox stands to her right, one hand on the pommel of his sword, the other holding his own cup of water that he too has not touched. “I’m a simple merchant.” He lets out a tiny laugh, mirthless and sad. “Did you know that the Broadleaf Clan and Plains Riders both very much value the blue dye we make here? And there are stones, abundant here, that the Delphi Clan has never seen, stones they are willing to part with much for.”</p>
<p>“Make your point, Chieftain Gavin.”</p>
<p>“I never wanted to be Chieftain, <em>heda</em>. But my people needed me. It was either work with the nearby villages and clans or go to war, and <em>Heda Leksa</em>, my people cannot afford war.”</p>
<p>“So a simple merchant who understands trade and bartering took charge.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Gavin says, nodding and draining his water. “I lead my people, but I am no leader. I can ensure they have what they need, but I cannot protect them. This was not a position I wanted.” He licks his lips and Lexa stares at him carefully, at his wild hair, dark eyes, and large stomach. “My people <em>need</em>an alliance with you, <em>heda</em>, even if they do not know it.” She stares at him a moment longer, and then, without saying a word, she takes a sip of the water. But the simple act—if it could be considered simple at all—nearly makes Gavin sigh with relief, the tension in his shoulder disappearing.</p>
<p>“Transport of the water will prove to be a challenge,” she tells him, raising her chin. “I want to build a system of aqueducts, from here to Polis and beyond, to the Boat Clan.” Gavin nods along, clearly aware where she is going with all this, willing to do anything if it meant his people would survive—a mark, she thinks, of a true leader, even if he was yet unaware of it. “You want an alliance with the Boat Clan and Tree People? Very well. You will receive indefinite aid from us. Food, defense, whatever you and your people may need. But in return, you will fight in our wars, you will help build the aqueducts, you will help us solve our problems. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>“What I have is yours, and you have is mine.” He nods quickly and violently, as if he cannot bear the weight of his responsibility any longer, eagerly anticipating the moment he can toss it onto Lexa’s shoulders. “I understand, <em>heda</em>. As long as you keep my people alive, we will do whatever you say. I would gladly step down as Chief—” Lexa raises her hand, giving the man a quick shake of her head.</p>
<p>“No, Chieftain Gavin, you will not.” When he looks at her worriedly, quite possibly having assumed that an alliance meant she was taking over his clan, Lexa elaborates. “I was once told that the ones most suited to lead are the ones who are most eager to pass their power on, the ones who take on the mantle out of love and not out of greed. I believe you’re such a person.”</p>
<p>“You honor me, <em>heda</em>,” he says inclining his head. Surprisingly, he sounds terribly sincere.</p>
<p>Lexa does not know what to make of that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Helping the Lake People set up defenses against the Reapers is simple. Convincing them to be happy about the alliance is a little more difficult. It takes days of safety, of food being brought in, before the public opinion begins to change, before murmurs of ‘invader’ turned into inclined heads and smiles and whispers of ‘<em>heda.</em>’ After that, it only takes a few hours to convince them to help build the aqueducts.</p>
<p>“You seem to have a knack for getting what you want, <em>heda</em>,” Rox says one afternoon, though he is grinning, clearly happy about the outcome. Lexa smiles slightly.</p>
<p>“Yes, it seems I do.”</p>
<p>“I never thought it was possible. Three Clans, at peace, working together. It’s a miracle, and it’s all thanks to you, our anomaly.” Lexa swallows and does not answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is her first time in Tondc, and when she strolls into the village, the people fall silent. “<em>Heda</em>,” they whisper. “<em>Heda!” </em>Some bow, others scramble about, craning their necks to look at her. But Lexa only has eyes for the woman with the short dark hair and the hard dark eyes.</p>
<p>“Indra,” she says, meeting the woman’s eyes unflinchingly. The regal air comes more naturally to her now, almost as if it is a second skin, an armor she never takes off. (She sometimes finds herself wondering how long it took before Isolde no longer knew the difference between the armor and the skin beneath. She wonders how long it will take for herself to reach that point, the moment the lines blur so much that it will be impossible to separate <em>heda </em>from Lexa.)</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>. It is an honor to have you here in Tondc.” She does not sound very honored, and Lexa wants to laugh. Instead, she fixes the woman with a cool look, raising her chin, almost lazily motioning for her to follow. There are whispers as Indra falls into step behind Lexa.</p>
<p>“I come with troubling news, Indra,” Lexa begins, one hand on her sword’s pommel, the other hanging limply at her side. “Chieftain Gavin claims that Tondc has been sending aid to his people. Yet I was not aware of this.”</p>
<p>“They protect us from the Reapers—”</p>
<p>“I don’t care,” she says, cutting Indra off easily. “How long has this been going on?” Indra does not meet her eyes as she answers.</p>
<p>“Since Commander Isolde fell ill.” The implication is there, the subtle taunt, but Lexa does not rise to the bait, instead, she merely nods.</p>
<p>“Gavin would not have been so willing to make an alliance with us had it not been for the fact you gave him aid and then stopped. You gave him a taste of what could be, made him <em>want </em>peace and security for his people. It is for that reason, and that reason only, that I am not killing you right now.” The words, rehearsed as she rode to Tondc, come easily, forcefully, sincerely. She has no idea if she could actually bring herself to kill the woman, but she needs Indra to <em>believe </em>she would.</p>
<p>“I understand.”</p>
<p>“No, you do not. You cannot make such decisions. You’re not <em>heda</em>, <em>I </em>am.” Indra’s eyes meet Lexa’s, and there is something there that was absent before. “I will not relieve you of your command of Tondc, but you will make no decisions on your own again. Anya will be spending some time here, she will ensure I’m obeyed.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” Indra begins, raising her chin as well, “do not doubt my loyalty. You are my Commander, I follow your lead.”</p>
<p>“Your word means nothing to me.” She studies Indra for a moment, studies the pride that lines her face, the stubbornness. “Anya will report back to me. When I feel I can trust you again, I will stop watching you like you are a child.” Indra flinches and looks down, the barb hitting home, cowing the older woman more than anything else Lexa has said. “Do not believe that because I am young I am naïve, Indra. Not only was I raised by Isolde, I was raised among men and women who would rather see me die than become <em>heda</em>. Trust does not come easily to me, and I will not hesitate to kill each and every one of you who dares defy me. Do we understand each other now?”</p>
<p>“Yes, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“Good. Now, let us discuss the aqueducts.” She turns away, but not before noticing the small smile that tugs at Indra’s lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After weeks of travel, first to the Lake People and Tondc, and then to the villages that had been successfully cowed into ceasing their childish ‘rebellion,’ Lexa wants nothing more than to collapse onto her bed and sleep for as long as possible (sleep until she is forced to oversee something else as <em>heda</em>, forced to discuss punishments and treaties and alliances with Titus), but when she enters her room, Costia is already there. Before Lexa can say a word, the girl shakes her head, taking a deep breath and speaking quickly.</p>
<p>“You said I didn’t understand what I was asking for, and you were right.” Lexa raises an eyebrow, but Costia plows on, clearly nervous, her fingers twitching against her thigh. “But I thought about it while you were gone, and Lexa, I still want to.” She swallows, shrugging. “If it’s a choice between having it all but not you and giving everything up but <em>having you</em>, then it’s not a choice at all.” Her hands begin to shake. “All I want is you. Whatever that means, however much that is. Just you, Lexa. Only you.” She takes a tentative step forward, her eyes wide and worried. “Please Lexa. Don’t push me away.” Lexa is silent for a moment, her tired mind sluggishly trying to keep up.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” she finally manages, and Costia nods immediately, no hesitation in her eyes or movements.</p>
<p>“The choice is mine, and I belong to you.” <em>You are making the wrong choice</em>, Lexa wants to scream, to shout. But her body is no longer under her control. She feels herself take several steps closer to Costia, feels her arms wrap around the other girl, feels her face bury itself in Costia’s neck, seeking comfort, warmth, softness.</p>
<p><em>You are making the wrong choice</em>, Lexa wants to scream, but all that comes out is a desperate, tearful, “Thank you.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The walls of the war room still permeate with Isolde’s presence, but unlike before—when it was a stark reminder of what she had lost, of how alone she was—the presence is soothing, comforting, a gentle reminder of all she has learned. Because she <em>is </em>the Commander<em>, </em>and she <em>can </em>do this. (She <em>must </em>do this, she knows now.) </p>
<p>“Many weeks ago,” Lexa begins, standing tall amongst all the older men and women—the Elders, Luna, Gavin, her advisors and generals (including Indra), Gustus, Anya, and Titus—her heart hammering away as she speaks, “Luna asked me what kind of leader I would be. If I would be like Isolde and bear all,” she can almost feel the Commander’s touch on her head, hear her booming laugh, smell the faint scent of flowers that always accompanied her, “or if I would be like the other clan leaders, vying for war.” She takes a deep breath, swallowing, raising her chin and meeting Rox’s eyes—her brother, who gave her the idea by calling her an anomaly. “I will be neither of those. Instead, I choose a third option. Peace.”</p>
<p>“And how will you accomplish such a task?” one of the Elders asks, Titus nodding along. She wonders if he thinks she is not aware that he tells the Elders to antagonize her, wonders if he thinks her patience has no limits. (She wonders if he thinks he can control her.) Lexa leans forward, bracing herself on the table with her fists.</p>
<p>“I will unite the twelve clans.” Silence meets her words, everyone’s faces a mixture of utter disbelief and extreme skepticism. “Isolde once told me that on any given day, we are fighting a two-front war. One against each other, the other against the Mountain Men. This <em>must</em>stop.” She stands up straight, meeting everyone’s eyes, needing them to agree, needing them on her side. “We must change, we must be different. Only then do we stand a chance against the Mountain.”</p>
<p>“They have weapons which make holes in the ground that you cannot see across. They are not enemies we wish to anger.”</p>
<p>“They are cowards, holed up in their Mountain, killing our people,” Lexa snaps back at the Elder. “If we work together, if we are strong and united, they cannot use us. And survival will stop being such an enormous challenge.”</p>
<p>“How will this work, <em>heda</em>?” Gustus asks, crossing his arms over his chest, looking unconvinced and wary, but willing to listen.</p>
<p>“The Desert Clan is weak and needs help. They will join the alliance easily enough and—”</p>
<p>“—and the other eight? Do you really believe the Ice Nation will be a part of this, this <em>Coalition </em>you’re trying to make?” The Elder is attempting to be disparaging, and Titus looks smug (as if he believes she is being successful), but Lexa is not fazed.</p>
<p>“This Coalition is strong already, and it has only three Clans. Even if it is through blood, I will bring the twelve clans together. I will bring peace.”</p>
<p>“And you will be their leader?” Gavin asks, raising his eyebrows. Luna stares at Lexa in interest.</p>
<p>“Yes. My Coalition, the responsibility falls on my shoulders.” Gavin is satisfied by the answer, unwilling to take on any more burden than he has to, but Luna continues to stare at Lexa in interest.</p>
<p>“If I did not know you, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>, I would say you were power hungry.” She laughs, shrugging. “But I do know you and if this Coalition is something you think we can accomplish, then very well. You have my sword.”</p>
<p>“And mine,” Gustus says immediately. Anya snorts.</p>
<p>“You always have mine.” One by one, the others nod, offering up their services, their loyalty, and Lexa nearly sighs in relief. But it is not until the meeting is long over, when she is alone in the war room, surrounded by the Commander’s presence, that she allows herself to slouch, to breathe, to close her eyes and finally break down.</p>
<p>“Am I still your pride and joy, <em>heda</em>?” she whispers, and she thinks she may be imagining it, but a gentle summer’s breeze bringing with it the scent of the Commander’s flowers—flowers that Lexa tends to meticulously, even now.  “Do you agree with this plan?”</p>
<p>There is no answer, but then, Lexa does not need one.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: I'm a huge lover and supporter of the oxford comma (and oxford shoes). who wants to make a club? also titus is the worst I can safely tell you guys that he does not get a happy ending but Lexa does</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The festival comes as a surprise.</p>
<p>Not that there have not been festivals before—she still remembers with stunning clarity the celebration after their victory over the Boat Clan, the fete after a particularly good harvest several years ago (during which Anya had had too much <em>souda</em>, becoming quite talkative and quick to challenge everyone she set eyes on to duels, only stopping when Reed dumped a bucket of water over her head), and the festivities celebrating Isolde’s fifteenth summer as <em>heda</em>. (She remembers that with stunning clarity as well—she remembers not being able to do much than blindly follow Isolde around Polis, giving stiff answers and curt nods, still full of anger and resentment that Isolde had forced her to kill Glen. She remembers Isolde’s sighs, the patience with which she had dealt with Lexa’s foul mood.)</p>
<p>(She does not know which she regrets more: the fact that she had wasted precious time with Isolde by being angry over something neither one of them had any choice about or the fact that that anger had so easily dissipated over the course of the next few months, forcing her to deal with the guilt that the anger had masked—a guilt she still does not know how to carry without shrinking from its weight.)</p>
<p>No, the festival is nothing new, she has seen many. It is the <em>reasoning </em>behind the festival that shocks her.</p>
<p>“They wish to honor you,” Reed tells her as they walk among the vendors and crafters who yell out prices and praise their stores, clamoring for attention. Others are littering flowers about, preparing food (the smell of sweets and cooking meats in the air), setting up games in the empty area at the foot of the tower. “Word of your intention to unite the clans has spread, despite your best efforts to keep it quiet.” She gives Lexa a look, as if she is amused, and raises an eyebrow. “This is their blessing, their way of showing you their support.” She winks at Lexa, as if the two of them are in on a secret, though Lexa has no clue what that secret could possibly be. “You are recreating the peace of the Beginning.”</p>
<p>“There was no peace during the Beginning. Or don’t you remember the stories about the hanging vine?”</p>
<p>“Being driven mad by the destruction of the world is one thing, <em>heda</em>. Dying at the hands of those you called friend when one people turned into twelve clans is quite another.”</p>
<p>“They should save these celebrations for when I succeed.”</p>
<p>“Not if?”</p>
<p>“No,” Lexa says, allowing herself the smallest of grins. “Not if.”</p>
<p>(That night, she gets to watch her laughing brother dance with the girl he loves; she spends over an hour with the children of Polis, telling them stories and braiding their hair; Wennin drinks a little too much, his cheeks red and his English sloppy; Reed and Anya sing a song, joined in by a reluctant Gustus; people press gifts and trinkets into Lexa’s hands, gestures of goodwill; and by the end of the night, when Lexa goes up to her room, she finds Costia already there, fruit and <em>souda </em>in hand, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.)</p>
<p>(It becomes another festival she is sure she will remember forever—with stunning clarity.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>// </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stares at them with her hands clasped behind her back, warpaint covering most of her face, donning her full gear, hoping she is exuding an air of confidence and strength though her heart is beating out of control. The men and woman stare back, some frowning, some expectant, all of them looking at her with some trepidation.</p>
<p>“You sixteen were chosen quite carefully,” Lexa says, looking at the woman to the very right and then scanning down the row. These are warriors, tested and true, with families—lives beyond that of serving her, their Commander. She knows this, and that it what makes this so difficult. “What I am asking of you is no short of suicide.” Their fear is not assuaged, and their surprise over Lexa’s blunt words are evident on their faces, though all of them—warriors, true warriors—manage to hide it quickly. “I do not make this decision hastily. The Coalition I build is worth sixteen lives, is worth the potential loss. I wish to bring peace, I wish to eliminate the need for war, and to do that, blood must be spilled.” One of the men’s carefully schooled expression falls for a moment, despite his best efforts: she sees worry, she sees anxiety, she sees doubt. (It is a doubt that was absent several days earlier, during the festivities, when food and drink and the thrill of music and dancing managed to mask the very real risk she is taking.) “You will be sent in pairs to the eight clans not yet a part of our Coalition. You will give their leader a message and a letter. It is very likely you will be killed—that is, after all, the way we are.” She stands a little straighter, ignoring Gustus’s looming presence behind her, ignoring the doubt prickling between her shoulder blades. “This is necessary. I would not do this otherwise.”</p>
<p>“Yes,<em>heda</em>,” they say in unison, and though Lexa waits for one of them to protest, to say they do not want to be sent away to die, no one speaks up (<em>they are warriors</em>, she thinks again, <em>they are warriors</em>).</p>
<p>(<em>They are warriors and when their </em>heda<em>asks them to die for her, they do.</em>)</p>
<p>“I am counting on you. Good luck.” She watches as the sixteen men and women incline their heads, watches as they leave with their chests puffed out, proud and strong, watches and recites their names in her head—committing them to memory—as they exit the war room. She swallows, shifting slightly, waiting for Gustus to speak. He does not keep her waiting for long.</p>
<p>“This is necessary<em>, heda</em>,” he says, his tone earnest. “You could not have gone yourself. The Lake People were one thing. You cannot put yourself at risk eight more times.”</p>
<p>“I wish to be alone, Gustus.” She turns to the others in the war room—to Rox and his troubled expression, to Anya and her frown, and finally to Titus, who looks preoccupied (though with what, she has no idea). “The Chief of the Desert Clan should be arriving in the morning. I will see you all then.” Without bothering to wait for a response, she leaves the war room as well, heading to her bedroom.</p>
<p>She strips off the war gear first—the clothes, the shoulder guard, the ceremonial sword at her waist—then roughly wipes the paint on her face off with a rag. Without pausing, she allows herself to collapse on her bed, her mind filled with thoughts of the sixteen men and women, the Desert Clan’s Chief, her plans for the Coalition. For the first time, she wonders if she has bitten off more than she can chew. (She told Reed it was a matter of <em>when</em>not <em>if</em>, and she realizes she may have spoken too soon.)</p>
<p>She does not turn when she hears the footsteps approach her. She remains the way she is: lying on her side, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The footsteps grow even closer and she curls even further into herself, a tiny ball, only partially hidden by her covers. In this moment, at this point, she is nothing but a child—a child shaking with the realization that she has made a grave mistake. As if sensing her thoughts, the person approaching her stops (person<em>—</em>she knows who it is, the only one who would dare approach her now, but she does not want to see her, does not want to think about her), a sigh escaping her lips.</p>
<p>“I asked to be alone,” Lexa manages to snap, and the person—the person she knows, the person she trusts, the person she cannot bear to look at—lets out an uncomfortable laugh.</p>
<p>“You fooled the others, Lexa. But I know you.”</p>
<p>“Eavesdropping again, Costia?”</p>
<p>“You had no choice.”</p>
<p>“Leave me.”</p>
<p>“Lexa, you can’t hide after you’re forced to make a difficult decision. Peace comes at a cost, we all know and understand that.”</p>
<p>“You’re not the one with their deaths on your back,” Lexa snaps, and Costia closes the last of the distance between them, sinking down on the bed, one hand on Lexa’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“I know, Lexa. That is the burden of <em>heda</em>.” She pauses, her fingers trailing down, tracing the tattoo on Lexa’s arm—the one that Lexa got in memory of Isolde, the one that mirrors the sentiment of the larger tattoo on her back—and she leans over to press a kiss on Lexa’s shoulder. “If there was any way I could lighten it, I would.” Lexa swallows, and after a pause, she turns around, facing Costia.</p>
<p>“I’ve condemned them.”</p>
<p>“They’re not dead yet.”</p>
<p>“Hope is foolish.”</p>
<p>“If you had no hope, you wouldn’t have sent them at all.” Costia kisses her again, this time on her forehead. “Gustus keeps saying that victory stands on the back of sacrifice. Do you trust him?”</p>
<p>“Yes. But that does not mean this is any easier.” Costia smiles sadly, finally shifting the last few inches and pressing a soft and chaste kiss to Lexa’s lips, kissing away the pain, kissing away the guilt, kissing away the sense of doubt.</p>
<p>“I know, Lexa,” she says as she pulls away, her hand on Lexa’s cheek, fingers splayed out, her thumb rubbing away the crease between Lexa’s eyebrows. “What can I do?” Lexa stares at her, her mouth dry, but suddenly—as if her hand had a mind of its own—she reaches out and tangles their fingers together.</p>
<p>“Just stay. Stay with me.”</p>
<p>And Costia—impossibly, extraordinarily, <em>mercifully—</em>does as Lexa asks. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She is in the library, sitting in her normal spot—where she learned how to read, where she sat across from Isolde and listened to her cheerful tone as she explained the meaning of certain words. A book is open on her lap, but her focus is on the chair once occupied by Isolde, a chair that feels like it has been vacant so long that Lexa can barely remember when it was filled.</p>
<p>“You miss her?” Lexa does not look up at Rox’s words and does not need to ask who he is referring to.</p>
<p>“Always,” she answers, shutting the book and leaning back in the chair. “Has the Desert Clan’s Chief arrived?”  </p>
<p>“No. But I think Gustus is looking for you. He wants to discuss your plans for the Coalition.”</p>
<p>“Again?”</p>
<p>“He’s protective of you. It’s natural.” Lexa smiles, and Rox steps over to her, leaning against the table. “I told him you were in the garden.”</p>
<p>“Ah. So what did you want me for?” Rox hangs his head, grinning.</p>
<p>“I see nothing gets past you, little sister.”</p>
<p>“If only because you make it so easy.” She looks at him expectantly, watching him shift uncomfortably. “So? Why did you need to keep Gustus distracted?”</p>
<p>“We should speak about Costia.” The smile tugging at her lips falls immediately, and she stiffens.</p>
<p>“What about her?” Rox clears his throat, his eyes full of regret—as if he does not want to be the one to speak, but knows he has to.</p>
<p>“Lexa, may I speak freely?”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course, you’re my advisor.” Rox, however, shakes his head.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid,” he says slowly, “you will not like my advice on this matter.”</p>
<p>“Why? Did Titus send you here to tell me something?” She keeps her tone light, but her brother is not fooled. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Titus is far too busy to order me about. He’s met with the Elders four times already this week.” Lexa stares at Rox, nodding slightly, indicating for him to continue. “You are <em>heda</em>, Lexa,” he finally says, frowning a little. “You asked me to stay in Polis to protect you, and that is what I’m doing when I tell you Costia is a danger.”</p>
<p>“You think she’s a threat to me?”</p>
<p>“No, of course not. I’ve never met someone so loyal before. But she threatens this Coalition.” Lexa tilts her head to the side, waiting to hear what her brother wants to say, waiting for him to get to the point. “You have enemies. You know Queen Nia wants nothing more than to see you fail, even if that means giving up the possibility of peace. And you have been open about how much you favor Costia.”</p>
<p>“I—”</p>
<p>“I’m not criticizing you. I’m making a point. You treat her…differently. You confide in her, tell her about the things that worry and pain you. You ask for her advice, look to her for guidance, and you don’t hide any of it.” He leans forward, not letting Lexa break eye contact. “She is more likely to be used against you if people believe she knows your secrets. Do not give your enemies a reason to use the girl.”</p>
<p>“What would you have me do?”</p>
<p>“Take her as your own.”</p>
<p>“I will not,” Lexa snaps. “I will not reduce her to such a state. She is a warrior, proud and strong.” Rox sighs.</p>
<p>“Then give her a job, put her in charge of something that will keep her busy and away from you. You need not give her up, but take steps to ensure her safety. Don’t tell her your worries or plans or secrets. Don’t show her favor. Keep your distance, and she will be safe.”</p>
<p>“You want me to pretend I don’t favor her? To put up an act?” Rox nods firmly, his eyes hard. “Why? Why do you care what happens to Costia?”</p>
<p>“I don’t,” he says, shocking Lexa a little. “I care for you and this Coalition.” Lexa frowns at the statement, wondering if she is imagining the threatening tone in his voice.</p>
<p>“If you hurt her—”</p>
<p>“I would never hurt her. But I cannot protect her either. Only you can.”</p>
<p>“What does any of this have to do with the Coalition? How is she a threat to that?” In response, Rox tilts his head, raising his chin, looking defiantly (and knowingly) into Lexa’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Oh, Lexa,” he says, not looking inclined to say more. That, more than anything, makes her wonder if the threat should be something obvious to her. Rather than speak, Lexa stares at him until he breaks eye contact, shifting uncomfortably. “Do you love her?” he asks softly, suddenly very interested in his hands.</p>
<p>“Rox—”</p>
<p>“Because I love Wren, and if I thought, even for a moment, that being with me would endanger her, I would leave her. I would choose her safety over what I wanted.” At this, Lexa stands, her fists clenched, her heart racing.</p>
<p>“You don’t think I do that already? With you? With Tris? Even with Anya and Gustus?” She takes a deep breath, shaking her head. “I have tried to push her away. She doesn’t care about the danger, she won’t listen to me.”</p>
<p>“She won’t listen to Lexa, but she has no choice but to listen to <em>heda</em>.” He meets her eyes, and it is only the concern and worry that shines in them that makes Lexa collapse into her chair, all the fight—all the righteous fury—draining out of her as she realized the truth of his words. “You’re not giving her up, Lexa. You know this, right?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I know this,” she says tonelessly, agreeing with her brother though she knew he was wrong. Because it was not Costia who would be lost, it was not Costia who was being given up. For a year, she had been <em>heda</em>to her people and Lexa with Costia. For a year, Costia coaxed the girl who had snuck off to swim in the lake out of the hardened shell that was the Commander. For a year, she had managed to avoid the terrible fate Isolde claimed was waiting for her, but now her time was up.</p>
<p>(<em>Better to die than to lose yourself, </em>Isolde had said.)</p>
<p>(Only now does Lexa understand what she meant.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Elders ask for you, <em>heda</em>.” She looks up from the maps, turning away from the Desert Clan’s Chief, turning away from Gustus’s argument with the other man, and she narrows her eyes at the aide.</p>
<p>“Tell the Elders I am busy.” When the aide does not move, she shifts to face him, staring him down. After a moment, he swallows nervously.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, <em>heda</em>,” he says, and Lexa forcibly reminds herself that he is just a boy, just a child. “I was told not to return without you.”</p>
<p>“You obey the Elders over your Commander?” Anya’s words, spoken from the other side of the room, are soft, but the boy’s hands begin to shake (something he attempts to hide by clasping them behind his back).</p>
<p>“I obey <em>heda</em>,” he says, not meeting Lexa’s eyes. “But the Elders—”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes,” Lexa interrupts, shaking her head and handing the Desert Clan’s Chief one of the maps. She does not miss the amused look on his face, and she quickly quells the anger bubbling low in her chest. “They’d best be dying, though. Anya.” Without a word, Anya moves to take Lexa’s place at the table.</p>
<p>“I came to discuss this alliance with you, <em>heda</em>,” the Chief says, the corner of his mouth turned upwards in the beginnings of a smirk as Lexa steps over to the aide, who is literally shaking in his boots. “I was under the impression that you are the Commander.”</p>
<p>“Bold words for a man at my mercy, Tomas.” Lexa does not even grace the Chief with eye contact; she merely stares disinterestedly at her fingernails. “Would you like to test me?” There is a beat of silence and then:</p>
<p>“No, <em>heda</em>.” At the words, the apologetic (if insincere) tone, Lexa looks up.</p>
<p>“Now tell me, was that too hard?” The Chief merely looked down, his lips pressed into a thin line, and Lexa left the war room without another word, the aide hot on her heels. Wennin gives her an apologetic glance when she glares at him, shrugging and hanging his head when she merely brushes by without speaking, finding it difficult to rein in the anger and humiliation of being <em>summoned </em>by the Elders.</p>
<p>(She has never spent very much time with them, their entire order led and managed by Titus. In fact, since becoming <em>heda</em>, she has barely seen them. She can barely remember Isolde ever spending time with them—mostly, her mentions of the Elders came with disgusted huffs of annoyance and impatience.)</p>
<p>“Are you worried he will retaliate, <em>heda</em>?” the aide asks as they walk, his eyes wide. He cannot be more then ten, a child (nothing more than a child), and Lexa forcibly reminds herself of that fact. It takes her a moment, in her anger, to piece together what the boy is even talking about.</p>
<p>“The Desert Clan needs us. Tomas would not dare.” He nods thoughtfully, struggling to keep up with her pace.</p>
<p>“That’s good. I don’t think we could have fought two wars, even with the Boat and Lake People.” His words stop Lexa in her tracks, and she grabs him by his shirt, pulling him to a stop as well.</p>
<p>“Explain.”</p>
<p>“The Elders, that’s what they want to speak about.” He stares up at her in confusion, and Lexa’s grip on his collar tightens.</p>
<p>“Explain further,” she grits out when he immediately does not speak. He swallows roughly.</p>
<p>“I heard them discussing the messengers you sent. They claim that if any Clans refuse your offer, we will be at war. I heard them say they wanted to end the threat before it became one.”</p>
<p>“They wish to attack before we have answers?” She is speaking to herself, but the boy nods quickly, looking terrified. With a sigh, she releases him, shaking her head. “Go back to the war room. Tell Gustus that I need him.” The boy nods again, but as he turns to leave, Lexa grabs his collar once more, patting him on the head and giving him the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, Jon.”</p>
<p>“I obey <em>heda</em>,” he says, positively beaming, inclining his head. Then, before Lexa can get in another word, he rushes off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Elders look too smug.</p>
<p>It infuriates her, annoys her, rankles at her. She wants nothing more than to wipe their smirks, their self-satisfied grins, off their faces, but instead she is forced to stand in front of them, stared down at as if she is a child and they her disapproving parents.</p>
<p>“We are troubled indeed<em>, heda</em>,” the oldest of the Elders says, shaking her head slowly. She is the same one who disagreed with Lexa’s plans, who argued when the others swore they would fight for the Coalition. Lexa cannot remember her name (has never bothered to learn any of their names), so instead of replying, she merely raises an eyebrow. The woman’s smug look falters for a moment, and she turns to the other five Elders briefly before physically gathering herself together and continuing. “We fear you invite our destruction.”</p>
<p>“Explain.” It is an order, much like the order she gave Jon, but rather than grin at her, the Elders exchange glances once more. Lexa can practically hear what they are thinking: <em>She is making this difficult. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>She is not letting us have our way. </em>
</p>
<p>(<em>You should have expected this</em>, Lexa thought savagely.)</p>
<p>“If they kill our messengers and mobilize their armies, we will have no time to prepare a defense. We must plan ahead, <em>heda</em>. Attack first, not wait until we are attacked,” another of the Elders says, a man with wispy white hair and an earnest expression. Lexa stands a little straighter, clasping her hands behind her back. <em>It is a cycle</em>, she thinks. <em>This will never end</em>. (She is young, inexperienced, and her authority will constantly be questioned.)</p>
<p>(This is a test, it is always a test.)</p>
<p>“I know,” she answers simply, her expression calm and collected. She remembers the way Isolde handled a room, handled her unruly subjects, and she forces herself to mimic that behavior—to mimic that strength of character. But she also remembers how Isolde let her anger get the best of her. She remembers the way Isolde’s shoulders seemed to collapse when she thought no one was looking. She remembers the blood that was shed needlessly, all because Isolde was quick to act. And while Lexa wishes to emulate her <em>heda</em>, she does not want to <em>be </em>Isolde. “But do not think I am so foolish as to leave my people vulnerable. Should any of the Clans mobilize against us, we will know, and we will be ready.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p>
<p>“Enough.” To the surprise of everyone, the Elder falls silent, lowering his head. “We cannot instigate. If we attack, we will be seen as subjugators, and the other Clans will not follow us. We are not conquerors, we are peacemakers. I will give them all the chance to accept or decline my offer, and if we go to war, they will have no one to blame but themselves.”</p>
<p>“This is not our way,” the first Elder, the woman, states, her expression furious. “We have known you were strange, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. You gave the others chosen by the Spirit an honorable burial, you openly show your affection for your mentors and that second, and you waste your time crying for peace while the rest of us prepare for the inevitable war.”</p>
<p>“I am <em>heda</em>, and I say our ways can change.”</p>
<p>“You are here for your people!” she cries, her eyes wide. “It is not your place to bring about change. Your people expect you to keep them safe, and as the representatives of your people, we warn you now, Lexa: You are neglecting your duties while you chase after this delusion of peace, and should this continue—should you fail in your duties—you will not be <em>heda </em>much longer.” Lexa raises her chin, presses her lips in a thin line, meeting the Elders’ eyes unflinchingly.</p>
<p>“I see. So this is a threat.” A few of the Elders look uncomfortable, shifting about without meeting each other’s or her eyes. But the woman, the one who had spoken, remains resolute, her expression hard. “I give in to what you say and I remain <em>heda</em>? The Commander commanded by the Elders?” She blinks slowly, working hard to keep her tone inflectionless, her expression clear. “Is this a coup, Elder?”</p>
<p>“No, <em>heda</em>. It is a warning. Tread carefully, or the Spirit will not stay in you much longer.” Lexa’s gaze never wavers, her expression never falters. She looks on impassively though the threat is ringing in her ears, igniting her chest, anger rolling through her in waves.</p>
<p>“I will not be bullied, scared, or threatened into doing what I know is wrong. Your concern is duly noted, but I assure you, it was never your place to worry.” They look shocked by her response, some even look affronted, but Lexa no longer cares. She turns and leaves, ignoring the woman’s protests, ignoring her claims that they were not yet done speaking. Instead, she meets Gustus outside the room, nodding to him and motioning for him to follow her. “You heard everything?”</p>
<p>“Yes, <em>heda</em>. It is a scare tactic, a power play. They think you an easy target.” They walk past a group of children—young seconds, she thinks, judging from the way they move and laugh. These are her people, she realizes. They are happy, at peace, not hungering nor thirsting. She is doing well by them—she will do well by them.</p>
<p>“Because I want peace?” The seconds begin to notice her, and they bow, incline their heads, murmur her name. One of the youngest rushes up to her and tugs on her hands. She is doing well by them—she will do well by them.</p>
<p>“Because you show mercy. Some believe mercy is indicative of weakness.” Lexa is silent for a moment, content to nod at the children, suppressing the smile that tugs on her lips. When they finally break free of the group, she turns to look at Gustus, her eyes narrowed.</p>
<p>“If they wish to see me be ruthless, then very well. I will be exactly that.”</p>
<p>“What will you do, <em>heda</em>?”</p>
<p>“It is time to teach the Elders where they stand.” Gustus nods, looking unsurprised by her comment. Perhaps he expected such a situation, perhaps he is merely good at hiding how he feels, but regardless, there is no indication if he agrees or disagrees with her. But Lexa also finds she does not care.</p>
<p>She is doing well by her people, and she has every intention to continue that—with or without the Elders’ help.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is small for his age.</p>
<p>That is the first thing she thinks when she sees him, his small arms struggling beneath the weight of the firewood he is carrying. She watches him from afar, studying him, nearly smiling when he huffs in irritation when he drops his burden and is forced to bend down and gather the wood once more.</p>
<p>“Are we staying here forever, <em>heda</em>?” Anya asks irritably, crossing her arms over her chest. “This village is…boring. And Polis is still nearly half a day’s ride away.”</p>
<p>“Who is that boy?” Lexa asks, ignoring her former mentor and pointing to the child instead. Anya looks over, her eyebrows shooting up when she takes in the small, gangly boy with the messy blond hair, and the filthy clothes (as if he had just rolled around in mud and muck).</p>
<p>“I can ask for you, <em>heda</em>,” Anya says, and before she can even nod, Anya is off—tracking down the chief of the village.</p>
<p>Lexa, however, contents herself with watching the boy finally succeed in his attempts to get firewood to what is presumably the hut he lives in, dropping the heavy cargo with an audible sigh of relief before leaning against the hut and wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, only to smear the mud and muck over his face. It makes Lexa smile despite herself.</p>
<p>“His name is Aden,” Anya says, reappearing at Lexa’s side, the village chief close behind her. “The village <em>fisa </em>watches the boy and trains him.”</p>
<p>“No,” Lexa mutters, and she turns to the chief with a smile. “I will watch and train him.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>?” Anya says, her eyebrows shooting up—whether in shock or worry, Lexa does not know or care.</p>
<p>“I can feel it,” Lexa announces. “The Spirit has chosen him.”</p>
<p>“Tradition demands he be given a mentor in his own village, <em>heda</em>,” the village chief mumbles, his head hung low. “I would gladly take on such an honor. He will be safe here.”</p>
<p>“No,” Lexa repeats, shaking her head. “Isolde broke tradition when she took me in and gave me a home in Polis. More than that, she offered training no one else could.” She studies Aden a moment longer, a smile once again overtaking her face. “Tell the child, Rowan. He will be leaving with us.” Rowan nods and immediately sets off towards Aden, taking the boy gently by the shoulder and guiding him into the hut, presumably to inform the <em>fisa </em>and help the child gather his things. Anya, however, crosses her arms over her chest and studies Lexa carefully.</p>
<p>“How do you know?”</p>
<p>“I just do. It’s…it’s like he’s brighter than everyone else. Different.” She looks at Anya with a wry smile. “Special,” she says, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Titus will not be happy, <em>heda</em>,” Anya says, accepting Lexa’s explanation easily. “I doubt he’s gotten over the shock of being silenced when he tried to dissuade you from going after this Coalition of yours.”</p>
<p>“I think we’ve spent long enough worrying about Titus’s <em>feelings</em>.” If Anya notices the way her voice drops to a hiss by the end of her sentence, she does not mention it. Instead, she merely stares at Lexa with an impassive expression (waiting, clearly, to be told what to do).  “I refuse to listen to a Flamekeeper who has not trusted me since the day we met, just as I refuse to listen to the voices of long dead Commanders.” At that, Anya looks interested. (Perhaps because Lexa has never mentioned the voices; perhaps because Anya has seen her sitting with her legs crossed and back straight, attempting to silence the whispers. Perhaps, even, because Anya knows what Lexa cannot admit: that she has been torn about shutting out the voices entirely because she sometimes finds herself hoping that, in the midst of the cacophony of voices, she will hear a voice she craves and needs. But Isolde has been frustratingly silent—clearly loathing the Spirit in death as much as she had in life.)</p>
<p>“And what do they say?” she asks just as Aden exits the hut, cheeks tearstained, one hand clinging to the sleeve of the healer. Lexa’s heart twists as she remembers her own farewells, but she takes a deep breath and ignores the pang.</p>
<p>“They tell me to stop.” She turns around, unwilling to see Aden wrap his arms around the healer’s waist, Rowan awkwardly looking on, torn between obeying his <em>heda </em>and allowing the child his goodbyes. “But I’ve only just begun.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She allows Aden a week to get used to Polis, to get used to his new teachers, to get used to his schedule. She gives him a week before she heads to the training rings and watches him spar (poorly) with Reed (who looks close to rolling her eyes, who is clearly going very easy on the boy). When Reed notices her approach, she taps Aden on the shoulder with her staff. Aden’s eyes widen, drops his staff, and with flaming cheeks, bows his head.  His anxiety and nervousness reminds Lexa of her own when she met Isolde for the first time, and she swallows hard, motioning for Aden to fall into step next to her as she leads him out of the training grounds.</p>
<p>“How do you like Polis, Aden?” she asks, studying him. His hair is still messy, but his clothes are clean and well-made, a small piece of red cloth tied around his upper arm. (It marks him, just as her sash once marked her, though he still has no idea what it means or why he was chosen.)   `            </p>
<p>“I love it,” he says, enthused. Then he blushes, the tips of his ears turning red, and he mumbles out, “<em>heda</em>,” almost as if berating himself for forgetting.</p>
<p>“Do you miss your village? The <em>fisa</em>?” He looks at her, and behind his young blue eyes, she sees shrewdness and intelligence and even a little bit of suspicion. It makes her swell with pride.</p>
<p>“Yes<em>, heda</em>,” he answers honestly. “But I do love it here,” he adds quickly, as if scared that she would punish him for missing his home. “Anya has been teaching me how to use a bow, and Reed tells funny stories. Costia taught me how to sneak into the kitchens, and—” He stops himself, as if worried he has said too much, his hands—which he was waving around wildly—falling to his sides.</p>
<p>They have reached the garden, Isolde’s garden (or now, perhaps, <em>her</em>garden), and Lexa wants to tell him. She intends to tell him. It is why she tracked him down in the first place.</p>
<p>But his cheeks are still tinged red, the excitement in his voice still rings in her ears, and Lexa remembers.</p>
<p><em>There is time for you yet, child. Do not be in a hurry to grow up</em>.</p>
<p>She guides Aden deeper into the garden, and points out the small purple flowers her<em>heda</em>had loved so, the fragrant scent strong even from several feet away.</p>
<p>“It’s called wisteria,” she says, feeling drained and not quite sure why.</p>
<p>“They’re very pretty, <em>heda</em>,” Aden says, nodding quickly.</p>
<p>“Yes, very pretty,” she repeats, and she suddenly finds herself hoping she never has to tell him the story of the hanging vine. She finds herself not wanting to weigh his carefree shoulders down with the knowledge that so much depends on him—that she will likely die fighting for the Coalition she wishes to create, that he will need to take her place, finish her work for her if need be.</p>
<p>(She intends to tell him, she does. But there is no hurry for the boy to grow up.)</p>
<p>(<em>There is time for you yet, child.</em>)</p>
<p>(She truly had intended to tell him.)</p>
<p>“I’m very glad you like Polis,” she finally says, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him out of the garden and towards the tower. “But don’t let Costia get you into trouble,” she warns. He nods very seriously in response, and Lexa finds she does not regret her decision.</p>
<p>And when Gustus and Anya question her, all she can say is that <em>heda </em>gave her ten years. Doing the same for Aden is the very least she can do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Costia’s fingers trace her ribs, brushing the skin lightly, her breath hot against Lexa’s neck.</p>
<p>Moments like this are rare. Costia sneaks into Lexa’s chambers every night (Lexa learned early on it is difficult to sleep without Costia pressed up against her), but she hardly ever gets to stay the entire night, usually slipping away several hours before sunrise. Between her training and mentor and Lexa’s duties, the time they are able to spend together becomes sporadic and short.</p>
<p>Lexa has learned to appreciate moments like this, when they can just lay in bed, Costia’s skin against her own, the sun’s first rays shining through the window.</p>
<p>“Aden says you taught him how to sneak into the kitchens.”</p>
<p>“He’s too serious,” Costia mumbles, kissing Lexa’s shoulder. “Wennin tried to convince him to hide horse excrement in Reed’s chambers. I think my influence is the lesser of two evils.” Lexa turns around, facing Costia, entwining their fingers between them. “I heard you haven’t told him he’s been chosen.”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“He’s a child,” Lexa admits, and Costia leans her forehead against hers, raising Lexa’s hand to her lips and kissing each knuckle. “I think I know how Isolde felt now.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Lexa,” Costia says softly, sounding <em>sad</em>, “I know you hold Isolde in high regard, but—” She cuts herself off, but the damage is done. Lexa pulls away from her, brows furrowed and eyes searching Costia’s dark ones, finding nothing to explain away the pity and sadness she finds there.</p>
<p>“But what?” she asks, sitting up entirely.</p>
<p>“Lexa—”</p>
<p>“But <em>what</em>?” she repeats, and Costia’s features harden.</p>
<p>“But Isolde never had your best interests at heart,” she says, sounding angry. “I know you loved her and I know she was important to you, but she was manipulative and hurt you and—”</p>
<p>“I know.” Costia, who had clearly not been expecting that response, lets her mouth fall open and reaches out to retake Lexa’s hand. But Lexa pulls further away. “Isolde had a great deal of faults, but if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that she wanted the best for me. She did a great deal on my behalf.”</p>
<p>“She forced you to become <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“This is my duty.”</p>
<p>“And it will be Aden’s duty, and then another child after him. When does that cycle end?” Lexa gets to her feet, pulling on her clothes only a little harshly, upset more with the fact that she has no ready response than she is with Costia’s comments.</p>
<p>“I <em>chose </em>this, Costia,” she says, holding her chin high.</p>
<p>“You chose not to abandon your duty. There’s a difference.”</p>
<p>“Not to me,” Lexa says shortly, and without looking back, she leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ceremony in Polis is small.</p>
<p>She knows why (everyone knows why). The war killed many seconds (Lexa herself killed five), then the drought killed even more. Few survived to see their eighteenth summer, few survived to become fully-fledged warriors.</p>
<p>Costia, a burly boy named Trent, a frail talkative girl called Sam, and fairly quiet and handsome boy named Quentin were the only ones being honored, the only ones being recognized. Their former mentors stand behind them, tall and proud, delighted for good reason: they succeeded where so many had failed, where so many had died.</p>
<p>Isolde always gave speeches at the ceremony in Polis, the ceremony of seconds turning into contributing citizens, but Lexa does not bother with words (Isolde was the speaker, Isolde was the one who instilled loyalty through a few powerful phrases). Instead, she dips her fingers in the dark kohl and paints the back of the former seconds’ eyelids, preparing them for war with nothing but a nod and slightest of touches. She hands them each a new weapon, listens patiently as they swear their fealty to <em>heda</em>, and then the ceremony is over, almost as quickly as it began. Sam and Trent would be joining the warriors to the south, protecting their borders with Mountain Men. Quentin was to be sent to Luna, as she built defenses in case any Clans wished to attack. Costia, however, Costia would remain in Polis—as per her own request.</p>
<p>Their fight from that morning is not far from Lexa’s mind as she watches Costia out of the corner of her eye. She loiters as the others incline their heads and leave, and when Lexa stares at her for a moment before rolling her eyes, the last of her patience crumbles and she runs to Lexa, throwing her arms around her neck. (The feeling of Costia pressed against her chest makes Lexa’s heart beat faster, makes her knees feel weak, makes her stomach turn at what she is about to do—what Rox’s words, what the morning’s argument, have made her realize.)</p>
<p>“Do you forgive me?” Costia asks, burrowing her face into Lexa’s neck. Instinctually, Lexa’s arms wrap around Costia’s waist, holding her closer.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispers, holding Costia tighter. She has always liked the fire in Costia’s blood, her desire to make things better, bring about change. It is admirable, and it was what drew her to Costia in the first place. She has no wish for Costia to think that that has somehow changed.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Costia asks, pulling back a little so that she can study Lexa’s eyes. She nods, and after a moment, Costia seems to find what she is looking for because she smiles widely and a laugh escapes her lips. “I am a warrior now, Lexa,” she says, pressing a kiss to Lexa’s lips, then her jawline, then her neck. “Can you believe it?”</p>
<p>“Costia—”</p>
<p>“I will be given my own second. And I will be able to help, and teach, and I’m a warrior, Lexa. A warrior.”</p>
<p>“You are,” Lexa says softly, pulling away from Costia’s tight grasp, her hot kisses. “You are a warrior, and a warrior needs a job.” This wipes the smile off Costia’s face, and her eyes narrow, understanding blossoming in them. She knows, Lexa can tell. She knows where this is going.</p>
<p>“I will be with you. I’ll be your protection.”</p>
<p>“I have Gustus.”</p>
<p>“He will need to eat and sleep eventually. Lexa, we discussed this—”</p>
<p>“—no, we didn’t. You made plans and believed I would go along with it, but I can’t. I won’t.” Costia stares at her in disbelief, and she takes a step back, almost as if she cannot bear to be so close to Lexa. “We’re attracting attention. Unwanted and undue attention. This is dangerous.”</p>
<p>“Is this about this morning? Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” She is incredulous, angry, clearly frustrated. Lexa swallows.</p>
<p>“I think I’m making you a target. I think my enemies would want to hurt <em>you</em>.” </p>
<p>“So what would you do, Lexa? Pretend there’s nothing between us?” When Lexa does not immediately respond, Costia scoffs. “That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. I merely wish to make us less conspicuous, attract less attention.”</p>
<p>“There has to be another way.”</p>
<p>“Rox said to take you as my own.”</p>
<p>“Then do that! Lexa, do that. At least we won’t be lying.”</p>
<p>“I will not.” The words come harshly, angrily, and Costia looks surprised. “You’re a warrior. You’re happy, I refuse to strip that away from you.”</p>
<p>“If it means having you, what do I care for a title?”</p>
<p>“I do, I care. I will not have you give up everything for me. You’ll remain in Polis, heading the Guard.” Costia snorts, shaking her head, her eyes flashing.</p>
<p>“So not only would you have me lie, you put me in charge of the group I hate. The group I’ve fought against. You realize they were the ones who killed Ric and Eve? The ones who destroyed priceless instruments, who burned the works of dozens of scientists and writers and thinkers?” She steps forward, jabbing Lexa hard in the sternum, her dark eyes full of a righteous fury, and Lexa does not think she has ever cared for Costia more than at this moment, watching her be so passionate over something she feels is important—over something she loves.</p>
<p>“Change comes slowly, Costia,” she says, tentatively reaching out to take Costia’s hand in her own, grateful when she does not pull away. “And when change finally does come, there will be no reason to hide, no reason to pretend.”</p>
<p>“And being in charge of the Guard? Must I kill my friends while you wait for change?”</p>
<p>“No, but you will be in the perfect position to protect them.” She leans forward, pressing her forehead against Costia’s, tangling their fingers together.</p>
<p>“I would rather you took me as your own.”</p>
<p>“This is not a request, Costia,” Lexa says, her voice soft, the words harsh. “I order you as <em>heda</em>.” There is silence following her words, Costia’s eyes full of something soft, gentle, sweet.</p>
<p>“So you didn’t forgive me about this morning, after all.” She is clearly joking, but Lexa feels the need to explain anyway.</p>
<p>“You did nothing wrong this morning. You’re allowed to disagree with me. I just…I don’t want to lose you, Costia. I can’t.” Silence meets her words, and she feels anxious and vulnerable beneath Costia’s knowing look.</p>
<p>“I know what you’re doing,” she finally says, pressing a kiss to Lexa’s cheek. “And you can push me away as much as you like. But to me, you will always be Lexa, just Lexa.” She kisses Lexa again, this time at the corner of her mouth. “If I do this, will it ease your worries? Will it give you peace of mind?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Then of course, <em>heda</em>. Whatever you need.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She waits for him in the war room, sitting on the wooden throne, donning her war paint and feeling just a little ridiculous. (But she wants to make a point, she wants him to remember her words, and that means she can be nothing less than <em>heda</em>. And <em>heda </em>is a warrior.)</p>
<p>“Commander, you summoned me?” Titus says as the doors are opened and he strolls in, his ropes whishing around his legs, his head inclined and his eyes darting about the room, clearly taken aback by the fact they are alone. Lexa motions for Wennin to close the doors, and he does so slowly, extending the creaking and making sure the wooden doors vibrate a little from the force of the impact as they are shut.</p>
<p>“Many years ago you asked me what made me different, do you remember? You asked why the Spirit called so strongly to me.” Her legs are crossed, she sits back casually in the throne, but Titus is no fool. He is fully aware that this is not merely a casual conversation (he had, after all, served under Isolde, had seen her employ the same exact tactic, though perhaps with less success—Isolde was never quite able to hide her anger).</p>
<p>“Yes, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“I have an answer for you now.” He is silent, clearly wary, so Lexa continues. “The Spirit needs me.”</p>
<p>“Of course, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“But it does not need you.” His back straightens and he meets Lexa’s gaze directly, but he does not find whatever it is he is searching for because after a moment, disappointment flickers over his face.</p>
<p>“I am the Flamekeeper,” he says, close to sounding mutinous. “I protect the cycle.”</p>
<p>“No, your duty is to <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>“I have done nothing but serve you.”</p>
<p>“You’ve done nothing but collude with the Elders. You’ve done nothing but sabotage my efforts to create this Coalition. You’ve done <em>nothing </em>but disagree.”</p>
<p>“Collude? <em>Heda</em>, my aim is only to—”</p>
<p>“<em>Em pleni.</em>” She stands, but does not approach Titus. She remains where she is, several steps above him, standing tall (remembering to keep her shoulders back, her spine straight, her chin high, just as Reed taught her). “You have served many years, I’m quite sure it gets tiring.” Titus looks confused, but he does not dare interrupt, and Lexa allows herself a little bit of satisfaction in that. “It is high time you took on a second, to ease your duties.”  </p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, I can manage just fine.”</p>
<p>“It was not a request, Titus.” She stares him down and, after a moment, he nods. Just as he turns to leave, clearly thinking the conversation is at an end, Lexa calls him back. “You should know,” she begins, keeping her voice low and tone hard, “the Elders will be punished for what you have done. And you should know, should you ever defy me again, you will share their fate—regardless of your title.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She has the Guard spread the message.</p>
<p>The whispers begin in Polis and spread to the outlying villages, and in what feels like no time at all, it seems like the only thing anyone speaks about. When the day finally arrives, the empty space at the foot of the tower—where there had been games and laughter during the festival—becomes a makeshift gallows, a somber mood permeating the air.</p>
<p>Only one large wooden pole has been set up, though five more are to die today. She watches—still in her armor, still wearing her paint, ceremonial sword at her waist—as the Elder is tied to the post, watches as the woman struggles against the restraints (a dishonorable act). </p>
<p>(It is a test, it is always a test.)</p>
<p>The crowd that has gathered is silent, watching and waiting. Lexa’s eyes flit over Costia—who seems worried—before focusing on Anya and Gustus, both of whom have grim expressions. She does not look for Rox or Wennin or Reed or even Aden among the crowd. She has no desire to see their expressions.</p>
<p>But she does stare directly at Titus, holding his gaze long enough to make a point before she turns to her people.</p>
<p>(It is a test, it is always a test.)</p>
<p>“Your Elders will die today,” she says, one hand on the pommel of her sword. “They will die for their treason.” She could say more. She could explain how the Elders committed treason not only against her, but Polis and the outlying villages—every single person on <em>Trikru </em>land. She could go on at length about the threat to the Coalition, the need to change, the fact that she has no desire to do this. But the Elders (but <em>Titus</em>) thought her weak because she showed mercy. She refuses to make that mistake again. So she does not speak, she does not explain, she merely unsheathes her blade and approaches the Elder—the one who threatened her—and she runs her through.</p>
<p>(It is a test, it is always a test.)</p>
<p>(But she has no time for tests—not anymore.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: this chapter is a nearly 20k doozy. I'm preemptively sorry. also, for levity's sake, I've developed quite a crush on evan rachel wood. much like all my other crushes, it will go nowhere</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She finds two more <em>natblidas</em>.</p>
<p>One is a girl, a few years older than Aden and much more reserved. Her name is Kara, her short hair is curly, her dark eyes are expressive, and she is witty and clever, making up for the fact that she sometimes leans towards arrogance.</p>
<p>The other is a boy of barely seven. He has a thick head of dark, wavy locks, his eyes are astonishingly similar to Isolde’s grey ones, and he has trouble saying his own name—an accident leaving him with a slight lisp, making Saul sound much more like ‘shawl.’</p>
<p>No one is quite sure what to make of the fact that she brings them to Polis as well.</p>
<p>Gustus reminds her of the Conclave, tells her that the children are rivals at best (enemies at worst, though he does not mention that). He asks whether she is sure she wants them to become close, whether she has forgotten her own Conclave. (Anya is a little more subtle, but only just. She mentions that Aden and Kara get along fabulously, that that camaraderie would come to a crashing halt the second they learn that, one day, they are expected to fight to the death.)</p>
<p>Titus, of course, begs her to choose one—if she <em>must </em>follow Isolde’s footsteps in this regard—and to send the other <em>natblidas </em>away. (“Do you remember your lessons?” he asks, rubbing his bald head in exasperation. “Do you remember the number of times <em>natblidas </em>led insurrections?”)</p>
<p>But Lexa is determined.</p>
<p>She has Titus oversee their training (an olive branch, a gesture that she could one day come to trust him again), while she watches them from afar. She has not yet been able to muster the courage to tell the children what they are (she especially is unwilling to tell Saul), and she finds herself making promises to herself she knows she can never keep.</p>
<p>(She promises she will be around for them, that she will never leave them like Isolde left her.)</p>
<p>(She promises she will ensure that they have a life without pain, that they will never know the feeling of having a friend’s blood on their hands.)</p>
<p>(She promises she will give them safety, that while she is bound to train and prepare them to become <em>heda</em>, she can take steps to ensure they never are forced to take on the role.)</p>
<p>How could it make sense to have the very few who were capable of carrying the Spirit kill each other in a bid for power? How was it effective or logical to cut down on their own number in a desire to show strength? How was bringing about death the only way one could prove they were strong?</p>
<p>She watches the <em>natblidas </em>from afar, making promises to herself (and to them, though they do not know it) that she may never be able to keep, and yet, she also makes plans. Plans for the Conclave, for an entire floor of the tower to be turned into a home for the children she was taking in as her own, for a future with the <em>natblidas </em>as vital parts of the Coalition (perhaps as ambassadors to the different clans, ensuring the interests of the Coalition are served, that her orders are obeyed).</p>
<p>She knows the danger of plans, knows how quickly things can change in battle—how she must be able to adapt to the changing tides. Yet, she plans anyway.</p>
<p>(She attempts to deny it, but she knows it is because she watches Aden and Kara make Saul laugh, and she remembers her own lonely childhood. And that gives her hope that change can finally come.)</p>
<p>(She attempts to deny it, but she knows the truth: she has fallen into the same trap as Isolde—she has come to love the children under her care.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She hears of the attack several days after it occurs.</p>
<p>Indra and Anya arrive in Polis together, identical expressions of forced indifference on their faces as they walk into the war room, interrupting Lexa’s meeting with Luna, Gavin, and Tomas.</p>
<p>“It’s the Mountain Men, <em>heda</em>,” Indra says without prompting, and she strides over until she is standing at Lexa’s right, something flashing in her eyes. “Six of my warriors were taken just days ago by Reapers.” She looks furious. “When will we confront that threat? End it?”</p>
<p>“Why do you think I want to build a Coalition?” Lexa asks tiredly, giving Anya a look, which merely causes the older woman to grin. “Until there is peace among the Clans, we cannot hope to defeat the Mountain Men.” Gavin grins at her words—the one with the most to gain without the threat of the Mountain—but Luna merely looks amused.</p>
<p>“Our Commander has a plan,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “We would do well to follow her lead, isn’t that right, Tomas?” The taunt makes the man grunt, but otherwise, he refuses to react. “We should give you and your advisor time to speak, <em>heda</em>,” she continues, looking from Lexa to Anya. She makes a motion with her head, and Gavin and Tomas immediately fall into line, following her out of the room, and leaving Lexa alone with Indra and Anya.</p>
<p>“There is nothing I can do, Indra,” Lexa begins tiredly, sitting in her chair, looking up at the older woman. “Only a few clans have responded. When I have news, so will you.”</p>
<p>“Have I earned your trust<em>, heda</em>?” she asks, ignoring Lexa’s comment. “Will I be free of the…inconsistent…surveillance?” She eyes Anya disapprovingly, but Anya merely smirks.</p>
<p>“Indra is also angry because she believes she is second in command at Tondc. She claims had she been in charge, those six warriors would not have been caught unawares by the Mountain Men.” </p>
<p>“It is not a claim, it is the truth,” Indra states, baring her teeth. “Your advisor sent my men to the other side of the river. We all know the Mountain Men control the lands south of the river.”</p>
<p>“They were on a scouting mission,” Anya shoots back, now looking uneasy and annoyed. “They knew the risks. They were brave warriors.”</p>
<p>“And because of you, they are all dead.”</p>
<p>“We don’t know that—”</p>
<p>“—those who are taken never return, but someone shielded here in Polis couldn’t be expected to understand—”</p>
<p>“—I don’t understand? You are in charge of a small village, I work for <em>heda </em>herself—”</p>
<p>“—you speak of your rank and you think it—”</p>
<p>“Enough.” The word puts their argument to an immediate stop, both of them turning to look at Lexa with wide eyes. “You’re acting like children.”</p>
<p>“Commander—” Indra begins, clearly about to argue her case even further. She is silenced when Lexa raises her hand.</p>
<p>“Indra, you wish to earn my trust?” The woman strands a little straighter, the smallest of tugs on her lips, giving Lexa a curt nod. “Very well. I have a job for you.”</p>
<p>“Of course, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“I want you to watch the new leader of the Guard. Track her, keep an eye on her. Let me know how well she is doing at her position.” This makes Indra frown in confusion, but she nods immediately.</p>
<p>“Of course, Commander.” She inclines her head and then leaves, and Lexa turns her attention to Anya.</p>
<p>“Go ahead and say it. I know you want to.”</p>
<p>“I have nothing to say.”</p>
<p>“Why send out scouts?”</p>
<p>“To understand the enemy.” Lexa stares at her former mentor for a moment, then sighs.</p>
<p>“You and Indra cannot ride to Polis every time you disagree. You already spend enough time here as it is. You shouldn’t avoid Tondc.”</p>
<p>“And you cannot use capable warriors to keep an eye on the girl just because you can no longer do it yourself.”</p>
<p>“The girl has a name.”</p>
<p>“Costia is capable, she is strong. The Guard is under good leadership. I hear a <em>fisa</em>with formidable talent was given more supplies to continue her…research. All thanks to the Guard.” Lexa nods, looking away from Anya and eyeing the maps and papers that litter the table. They are all for her—her writings, her records, detailing every action they take. She rubs her eyes, feeling tired, worn.</p>
<p>“She will bring the change I cannot,” she finally says, meeting Anya’s eyes briefly before looking away again, unable to bear the pity she sees. “She will do a great deal.”</p>
<p>“Open your eyes, Lexa,” Anya says, her tone blunt but not unkind. “You have already done much.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has dark eyes, tufts of dark hair, and makes soft breathing noises every time he moves. And Lexa, with no thought at all, immediately falls in love with him.</p>
<p>“I have named him in secret,” Rox says and Lexa’s eyes flick over to him, noticing that he had been watching Lexa watch the baby, the child, her nephew. There is something in Rox’s eyes, a look she does not quite care for, and she wonders what her brother thinks as he watches his cold Commander—his little sister—smile widely at his son. “Wren does not know, I think she would consider it a bad omen.”</p>
<p>“What will you call him?”</p>
<p>“Darrin. It’s a strong name, no?”</p>
<p>“He has his mother’s eyes,” Lexa says, reaching out, enamored by his small fingers and toes, by the opening and closing of his mouth, by the way he yawns. She loves this boy, this Darrin, and she can do nothing to quell the feelings erupting in her chest. “Has Tris met him?”</p>
<p>“Oh yes. She was here when Wren gave birth. She said he is beautiful.”</p>
<p>“She’s right.” Lexa tears her gaze away from the child, turning to her brother. “I’m sorry I  missed the ceremony. I—”</p>
<p>“You had no choice, I know. You could not come to my Joining, it would have put us in danger. Please don’t apologize, Lexa. If anyone understands, it’s me.”</p>
<p>“I wish I had seen it. Gustus told me it was wonderful. And now, look. You have a son.”</p>
<p>“And you have a nephew.” Rox places a hand on her shoulder, but Lexa’s gaze is on the child again, torn between amazement, wonder, and love. She wonders, for the first time, how it was fair to deprive <em>heda </em>of this honor—of this miracle. Aden, Kara, and Saul are hers, but her relationship with them is tinged with sorrow and bitterness, a sense that she will inevitably fail them (the knowledge that she must one day condemn them always lingering in the back of her mind, tainting her relationship with them). But this child…there is nothing but infinite possibility for this child.</p>
<p>“The Coalition is for him,” she whispers. “Peace, a life without war. A life of opportunity and choice. That is what I want to build for him.”</p>
<p>“It’s a beautiful dream, Lexa,” Rox says, removing his hand, smoothing back his son’s hair, the one month old dozing off.</p>
<p>“It is not a dream. Dreams do not come true,” she finds herself saying, and once more she does what she knows she should not. “It is a promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of the eight Clans she sent messengers to, only one sends both back alive.</p>
<p>The Delphi Clan, a highly superstitious people—who spend far more time looking for ‘signs’ than they do looking for war—send her messengers back with word that they wish for peace and prosperity as well, that they are keen to return to what once was. In an effort to prove their claim, they send grain and cloth in a gesture of good will, along with a dozen of their most talented craftsmen—one of whom gifts Lexa with a small knife. The blade is long and triangular, the grip wooden and smooth with small studs circling the hilt, and yet it feels sturdy and light in her hand. (The craftswoman tells her the metal comes from the Blue Cliffs Clan, that the wood comes from the Glowing Forest Clan, that the sheath is made of leather from the Shallow Valley People.)</p>
<p>(She tells Lexa that the Commander of the Coalition—<em>heda</em><em>kom kongeda</em>—deserves a blade that represents the Coalition.)</p>
<p>(It is a sign, she says as she hands over the knife. A sign that Lexa is special—that Lexa is chosen.)</p>
<p>She is not quite sure how true such a statement is—she is not quite sure how much she deserves such a carefully crafted blade—but she accepts the gift with a nod. The weight on her shoulders feels unbearable, the whispering in her head becomes intolerable, but she does not think anyone notices.</p>
<p>(Except, maybe, for Costia, who keeps her expression carefully schooled even as her eyes express worry—worry, and something else, something that has Lexa’s heart stuttering, thrumming, fluttering.)</p>
<p>Three clans—the Glowing Forest People, the Plains Riders, and the Blue Cliffs Clan—send back a single messenger. It is a warning, symbolizing a willingness to listen but a hesitance to trust. She finds it difficult to fault them. After all, had one of the other clan leaders sent messengers to her declaring a desire to create a Coalition, she would have been more than a little skeptical.</p>
<p>She accepts their warning—and their hesitance—by sending word that she is willing to meet with them, to speak, to show them that the Coalition was not a declaration of war, but a desire to end it completely.</p>
<p>She wonders just how honest she is being with herself when three clans—the Shallow Valley People, the Rockline Clan, and the Broadleaf Clan—kill both messengers, stringing up their headless bodies near <em>Trigedakru </em>borders, and thus declare war on her and her slowly building Coalition. She wonders how she can convince the Plains Riders that she will keep them safe, the Blue Cliffs Clan that she will keep them fed, the Glowing Forest People that she will end the Mountain Men, how she can look them in the eye and tell them she wishes to end war when all she has done is start one.</p>
<p>And of course, then there is the Ice Nation. The war-torn and power hungry Ice Nation, which does not bother with a response at all. (It irks Lexa, because she knows what Nia is trying to say, what she is implying by explicitly not reacting. She is claiming Lexa is not even worth her notice, she is denying Lexa’s leadership, she is suggesting that Lexa is beneath her.)</p>
<p>(Lexa hates that after years of being <em>heda, </em>there is still a part of her—a childish and weak part of her—that still believes herself to be unworthy of her position, that still looks over her shoulder for Isolde’s approval.)</p>
<p>When she meets with Luna, Tomas, and Gavin to tell them of the most recent developments—to warn them about war—all three of them sport the same shocked expression. It is that moment that she discovers something about her allies: they do not believe in her. Even worse, they do not believe in the Coalition. She wonders if they were waiting for it to fail, for it to all fall apart.</p>
<p>She is not quite sure what bothers her so much about this, and it is not until she is strolling the garden with Gustus that she comes to an understanding.</p>
<p>“How will this Coalition come to be if the people fighting for it don’t believe it is possible?” she asks, coming to a stop.</p>
<p>“Do you believe it is possible?” Gustus asks, not delving into what brought on this line of questioning. Lexa looks up towards the cloudy sky. It has been a very wet summer, storms springing up nearly every afternoon. Reed had claimed the weather would soon grow colder, but the oppressive heat and the slick humidity had not yet let up.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she says finally, feeling a single raindrop fall onto her forehead. It almost brings a smile to her face. “Bringing peace through war. It doesn’t seem to make sense, does it?” There had been a few skirmishes towards the west between the Broadleaf Clan and <em>Trikru</em><em>gona</em>. Even Tomas had to send his own warriors to their southernmost borders, to fend off an attack by the Rockline Clan.</p>
<p>“Have you lost your faith in this Coalition?” Gustus asks, his eyes warm and kind, taking her back to afternoons spent in his company, going over politics and strategy.</p>
<p>“I just…I fear that my people will not follow me into war.” She sighs, closing her eyes. “Reed says they support me, but will they still be loyal when their brothers and sisters are dying for a cause they’ve no faith in?” She opens her eyes when she feels Gustus’s heavy hand on her shoulder. He bends a little so that they are eye-level. Lexa almost thinks he is seconds away from pulling dried fruit from his pocket, seconds away from shifting the weight of his hand from her shoulder to the top of her head.</p>
<p>“They don’t need to have faith in the Coalition, Lexa,” he says, tipping up her chin with a gentle hand. “They will not fight a war for a cause, they will fight a war for you.”</p>
<p>“But—”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” he mutters, shaking his head, “do you know what you are to your people?” When she shakes her head, Gustus actually smiles. “You carry their hopes and dreams within you. They pour their hearts into you. And in return for the weight you carry, for wholly belonging to them, they will not only follow you to the ends of the world, will not only fight for you, they will die for you—willingly and without question.” He releases her, taking a step back and inclining his head. “Your people believe in you,” he says. “And as long as you have faith in the Coalition, your people will fight for it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is not the traveling that exhausts Lexa, but rather the consistent need to pretend that the girl riding to her right is nothing more than the Captain of her Guard.</p>
<p>They had left Polis over a week earlier, riding through <em>Trikru </em>lands with an army made up of her own people as well as those from the Boat Clan and Lake People (though when she had said as much, Gustus shook his head, reminding her that they were all her people now).</p>
<p>The <em>gona </em>following her are full of excitement. They know what they are: a show of strength, a way to sway the leaders of the three clans they are meeting. They revel in the chance to prove the might of their <em>heda’s </em>Coalition—despite the fact that it is merely five clans strong.</p>
<p>And Lexa knows a great deal relies on the success of this endeavor. She knows she must concentrate. But while riding, with nothing else occupying her mind or time, Lexa only has eyes and thoughts for Costia.</p>
<p>And when they stop to camp, when tents are set up and fires are lit and the smell of cooking meat fills the air, Lexa allows herself to yearn for Costia’s touch—for her kisses and warm skin and soft caresses.</p>
<p>She cannot do more than yearn because she spends so little time with Costia, and even less alone. Between the continual talks about the Ice Nation’s gathering army at the Desert Clan’s border, between Indra’s desire to maintain a strict watch over both camp and surrounding area, between her own need to spar with Anya in order to keep her mind clear and her muscles unclenched, there is no time to be with Costia. There is barely even time or opportunity to offer Costia a tiny smile.</p>
<p>Thus, it is a surprise when, two days later, at a new campsite and deep into the Plains Riders territory, Lexa finds Costia sneaking into her tent late at night. Lexa is too shocked to complain, and when Costia kisses her, she is too weak to argue.</p>
<p>“Being Captain has its benefits,” Costia says much later, snacking on some dried fruit, watching Lexa with a satisfied smirk and careful eyes. “I know where all your guards are at all times. I would have done this sooner, but Indra is being terribly observant.”</p>
<p>“You’re supposed to be weeding out those who break my laws,” Lexa mutters, ignoring Costia’s knowing look when she bites her lip at the mention of Indra.</p>
<p>“Ah, so you don’t like rule breakers anymore?” she grins. “You used to be quite fond of them.”</p>
<p>“Funny. Indra is merely making sure you’re doing your job,” she explains, leaning back onto her furs, smiling up at Costia. “She likes you.”</p>
<p>“I know. She told me I was a “good warrior” and that she understood why the Commander would choose me.” Costia rolls her eyes and shuffles closer to Lexa, resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder and pressing tiny kisses to Lexa’s collarbone. “I wanted to tell her this was all a ruse, but I suppose that’s the point of a secret.” Lexa stiffens slightly, but Costia burrows into her, running the fingers of one hand up and down Lexa’s stomach, her mouth now pressing wet kisses to Lexa’s neck. “I gave in to give you peace of mind,” she says softly, reaching Lexa’s jaw. “Not because I agreed.” She pulls her head back to study Lexa, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Lexa gets lost in counting the freckles littering Costia’s nose and cheeks.</p>
<p>“I know,” she finds herself saying, somewhat distracted. “But what if someone catches you? In Polis I can trust that Wennin will keep silent. But here? When any guard can see you sneaking into my tent and bed?”</p>
<p>“You haven’t exactly complained.”</p>
<p>“Costia,” Lexa says weakly, watching as Costia’s grin is replaced by annoyance before she manages to school her expression.</p>
<p>“Very well,” she says, pulling further away until their bodies were no longer touching. “I promise I will not sneak into your bed again, <em>heda</em>.” The title, coming from Costia’s lips, makes Lexa’s heart twist in her chest and her hands shake.</p>
<p>“Costia,” Lexa murmurs, moving so that she is settled on top of her, bracing herself on her elbows. “Please, don’t shut me out.” She does not know why the request comes out sounding so vulnerable, so broken, but she can feel the desperation clawing at her ribcage when Costia merely averts her eyes. “I am still me,” she says, kissing Costia’s neck, her collarbone, her chest. “I am still me,” she repeats, nearly sighing with relief when Costia’s arms wrap around her neck and pull her closer, when she kisses Lexa long and hard.</p>
<p>“<em>Ai hod yu in</em>, <em>Leksa</em>,” Costia says, her hands running up and down Lexa’s arms. “And I’m afraid for you. I’m afraid you’re allowing <em>heda </em>to chip away at the best parts of you.”</p>
<p>“They are one and the same,” Lexa argues weakly, too stunned by Costia’s confession to do much more than stare at Costia’s lips and quell the desire that shoots through her veins. “<em>Ai laik heda, ai laik Leksa.</em>”</p>
<p>“This is you,” Costia says, pressing a hand over Lexa’s heart, her thumb rubbing mindless patterns into the skin there. “This is <em>heda</em>,” she continues, pressing the fingers of her other hand to Lexa’s forehead. “I am in awe of <em>heda</em>. I am loyal to her. But I love Lexa. I <em>belong </em>to her.”</p>
<p>(<em>You belong to your people, let me belong to you.</em>)</p>
<p>“If I could choose…” Lexa begins, feeling something hot well up in her eyes, roll down her cheeks. She is unable to finish her thought, mortified by the tears on her cheeks, overwhelmed by the understanding in Costia’s eyes.</p>
<p>“I know,” she whispers.</p>
<p>And when Costia kisses her, it is sweet and forceful and full of love, and it is tinged with a bitterness and sadness Lexa is powerless to force away.</p>
<p>(<em>If I could choose, </em>she wanted to say, <em>I would choose to belong to you.</em>)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We should meet them on our terms, not on theirs,” Gustus says, repeating an old complaint, his voice gruff. The weather is quickly becoming cooler, autumn approaching in a rush, leaving throats sore and noses sniffling, and not even Gustus is able to escape the season’s wrath. Lexa laughs, loud and clear, the sight of her protector’s red nose and annoyed expression becoming too much.</p>
<p>“We want them to join the Coalition, Gustus,” she says, ignoring the grin that appears on his face in response to her laughter. “If that means we meet them where they want, so be it.”</p>
<p>“The Delphi Clan required no meeting.”</p>
<p>“The Delphi Clan is terrified of the Ice Nation’s growing army. Three years is not enough to wash away the memories of the past.”</p>
<p>“They were barely touched by the war.”</p>
<p>“Many of their villages burned. We were not the only ones who lost people in the Ice Nation’s bid for power.” Gustus scoffs in response, crossing his arms over his chest, head held high—a pointless endeavor to look serious, marred by the sniffling and occasional cough.</p>
<p>“What if this is a trick?” he asks, giving her a look. “They have dragged us to their land, they have the advantage. They know the area, they know where to hide their <em>gona.</em>”</p>
<p>“If it is a trap, I have my own army,” Lexa says, unable to help the grin that grows on her face as they walk towards the enormous fire lit at the center of their camp. Many <em>gona </em>are already huddled around it, and they stand to attention the moment they see her approach. “I have Anya, Indra, and Rox,” she gestures to her advisors, who return to their meals and conversations after a wave of her hand. “And most importantly, I have you. You are a one man army.”</p>
<p>“Your safety is not a joke, <em>heda</em>.” He stuffs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a bag, handing it to Lexa. She fights a smile when she realizes he has given her a bag of dried fruits.</p>
<p>“Feeling sentimental, Gustus?”</p>
<p>“You may be <em>heda</em>, but I’ve known you since you were a child. And you are happy.” He says it as a statement, no real curiosity in his tone, and Lexa knows it is a trap—a way to get her to admit to something she does not want to admit. But instead of changing the subject or ending the conversation, she indulges him, smiling slightly as she willingly walks into his verbal snare.</p>
<p>“Am I not allowed to be happy?”</p>
<p>“I would say that depends on why you are happy, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“You could just ask, Gustus. Like you said, you have known me for a long time.” They walk away from the fire and back towards her tent, Gustus silent until they are alone.</p>
<p>“I fear you are taking light of the threat on your life because you are happy,” he finally says.</p>
<p>“My brother has a son. I am making an alliance with three more Clans tomorrow. Why would I not be happy?” She does not add that Costia has told her she loves her, she does not talk about how her heart has swelled, almost as if it is too big for her chest. She does not mention that in her short life, having Costia’s love is the greatest thing that has happened to her.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p>
<p>“Trust me, Gustus,” she interrupts, placing a hand on his arm, silencing him. “I have no intention of dying. I have a promise to keep.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The leaders of the Glowing Forest, Plains Riders, and Blue Cliffs clans make Lexa rather uneasy. </p>
<p>Gail, the leader of the Glowing Forest People, is a short, stout, and affable woman, quick to laugh, but vaguely suspicious and unassuming. She has graying hair, old for her position, and there is something about her laughter that makes Lexa feel rather uncomfortable (it is something off, an innate imbalance, a disharmony, she has no idea how to deal with). </p>
<p>Pel, who leads the Blue Cliff Clan, is Gail’s opposite. He is young, rakish, lean and tall. But he seems off as well—sociable and charming, yet there is a darkness in his eyes that Lexa is intimately familiar with. He is haunted—much like Glen and Frieda and Isolde haunt her—but unlike Lexa, it seems to affect his actions, his behavior. He is unstable, and Lexa realizes that—much like Luna or Tomas—an alliance with him is risky. Should it ever be in his favor, he would tear away from the Coalition in a heartbeat. More than that, he makes her uneasy with the casual way he seems to think he can manipulate her—his attempts to garner favor by endeavoring to appeal to her.</p>
<p>Trina, however, the makeshift head of the Plains Riders, is entirely different. She is serious, rarely smiles, her back remains ramrod straight, outlines of her bones easily seen through her clothes. But she also is the one Lexa finds herself liking and trusting the most—she is frail, but strong, firm in her convictions if not in body. She somewhat reminds Lexa of Reed, and she thinks—perhaps one day—the two women could be friends.</p>
<p>“You say Luna has agreed to this alliance?” Gail asks, sitting back, asking the same question they have been asking for hours now, staring at Lexa in disbelief. As per their agreement, Lexa had met with the three Clan leaders, on neutral ground—not in any of their towns or villages, but in the middle of nowhere in Plains Rider territory, huddled together in one of the Plains Riders’ sturdy tents all morning, their armies mingling uncomfortably together, unsure if there would be a war or if there would be peace. “What could the Tree People possibly give to the Boat Clan to make them agree to such a deal?”</p>
<p>“The same thing I offer you,” Lexa answers, not letting Gail’s tone faze her. “Peace. Protection. Prosperity.”</p>
<p>“You guarantee things that cannot be guaranteed,” Trina says, her fingers tapping against the table, her eyes not on Lexa, but on the roof of the tent.</p>
<p>“If we are allies, we can defeat the Mountain Men. We can bring peace. And with peace comes safety, comes prosperity. A chance for our people to live lives untouched by war, famine, or drought. We create a new world, one where we help each other.”</p>
<p>“That is idealistic of you, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>,” Trina says softly, and Pel snorts.</p>
<p>“Would <em>you </em>be in charge of this ‘new world?’” he asks, tilting his head to the side, studying Lexa carefully, clearly finally giving up his attempts to be alluring or attractive, belatedly realizing it is a lost cause. “You will lead my people?”</p>
<p>“Your people are your own. But <em>you </em>will answer to <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>“So it is a power play!” Gail exclaims. “I do not believe Tomas, Gavin, or Luna would agree to such terms.”</p>
<p>“Ask them yourself, if you wish. But honestly, I don’t care if you believe my intentions or not. Asking you to join my Coalition is merely a formality. I will bring peace—with or without your help.”</p>
<p>“You would go to war to bring peace?” Pel asks, raising his eyebrows, an attempt to be sardonic. Lexa turns her hard gaze to him.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Gail and Pel look horrified by her statement, but Lexa thinks she sees Trina’s lips quirk in a slight smile before she is able to school her expression.</p>
<p>“My people are nomads, Commander Lexa. We live off the land, and the most we offer is our horses.” Her eyes are still on the roof. “We will bring very little to your Coalition, but what we have is yours.”</p>
<p>“And what is mine is yours,” Lexa answers, nearly smiling when Trina looks away from the roof long enough to meet Lexa’s eyes. The woman smiles—though it is barely a smile, much like the way Indra shows amusement—and nods. Gail practically growls.</p>
<p>“Commander, you cannot possibly be—who are you? Don’t you see we’re in a middle of something?” Lexa frowns and turns, surprised when she realizes Gail is addressing Anya.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” she says, ignoring Gail completely, “our scouts have returned. They claim <em>gona </em>are marching this way.”</p>
<p>“Broadleaf Clan?” she asks, remembering the scouts from several days ago who had seen Broadleaf warriors pass by. She barely waits for Anya’s nod before she gets to her feet, surprised when Pel snorts mirthlessly.</p>
<p>“Are we not worth your time, Commander?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “We have more to discuss.”</p>
<p>“No, we don’t. I gave you your options. And it seems the Broadleaf Clan wishes to start their war.” She waits for a moment, and when there is silence, she nods. “Very well, I have—”</p>
<p>“What is mine is yours, Commander,” Gail interrupts, sighing, rubbing her temples. “It’s not like I have a choice.” Lexa nods, then turns her gaze to Pel. He looks supremely displeased by it, but he too gives in.</p>
<p>“And mine as well.” There is no mistaking it now, Trina is smiling.</p>
<p>“Look at that, <em>heda</em>,” she says, using the <em>Trigedakru </em>honorific. “You may bring peace after all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She leads her warriors into battle.</p>
<p>(It is only right, she is <em>heda</em>.)</p>
<p>The two hundred or so Broadleaf warriors that have gathered are ill-prepared for the sudden onslaught of six hundred warriors from six different clans. They all expect the battle to be short and easy.</p>
<p>(For the most part it is.)</p>
<p>She sees him from far off, his long hair and cold eyes unmistakable in the afternoon light. He has his Ice Nation scars, hidden poorly by mud streaked on his face, and his well-made clothes are a strike contrast to the stiff clothing the Broadleaf warriors don.</p>
<p>She is unsure why Prince Roan of <em>Azgeda </em>would be here, but she knows she cannot allow him to return to his Queen.</p>
<p>When she races towards him, Roan drops all pretense and abandons the man he is fighting in favor of attempting to run away. But the warriors around him, the fallen bodies, and the slick blood that covers the earth, trips him up, slowing him down.</p>
<p>“Would you really kill an unarmed man, <em>heda</em>?” he asks Lexa when she reaches him, pointing to his sword, which he left abandoned in the back of a Blue Cliff Clan warrior. (<em>Her </em>warrior, she thinks. They are all her people now.)</p>
<p>“Did you abandon your Queen in favor of the Broadleaf Clan?”</p>
<p>“Some of us were not quite so lucky when it came to mothers, <em>heda</em>. Can you really blame me?” He is lying. (He does not even attempt to hide that he is lying.)</p>
<p>“Off to tell her about my new allies?”</p>
<p>“My mother was very displeased when she learned I failed to kill you. Perhaps this time I’ll do better,” he says, pulling a small knife from a hidden sheath and charging. Lexa turns slightly, jutting the butt of her sword into Roan’s diaphragm, using her right leg to sweep his out from under him. He lands on his back and Lexa kicks his knife out of his hands, placing the tip of her blade at his throat.</p>
<p>“I won’t ask again, Prince Roan. Were you spying?”</p>
<p>“You’ve made my mother nervous. That’s quite the feat<em>, heda</em>. You should be proud.” He grimaces when she just presses the blade against his throat, drawing blood. Just as she is about to question him again, she hears it: a voice that is unmistakably Costia’s.</p>
<p>A voice that is in distress.</p>
<p>She looks up, spotting Costia almost immediately, seeing her surrounded by four Broadleaf <em>gona</em>, all alone. (She had clearly chased after Lexa and Roan, she had clearly abandoned her duty to watch Lexa’s back and now she was paying for it.)</p>
<p>Without even thinking, Lexa pulls out one of her own knives, throwing it at the closest warrior, not bothering to wait for the sickening crunch or checking to see if he is indeed dead (after so many years of lessons with Anya, she is already sure).</p>
<p>Forgetting entirely about Roan, Lexa rushes towards Costia, bringing one <em>gona</em>to his knees by slicing through the back of his legs, as Costia manages to stab the woman in front of her. She is not quite sure what distracts her in that moment, she is not quite sure what happens.</p>
<p>One second, the last warrior raises his blade to attack Costia, and the next…he is dead and she thinks she might be too.</p>
<p>She does not feel herself fall to her knees and then to the ground, she does not hear Costia’s shouting for Gustus and Anya, she does not feel the hot blood on her side and the horrible pain that accompanies it. All she knows is that a blackness—a deep, terrible, all consuming blackness—is flooding towards her, and the last thing she is aware of before there is nothing at all is Costia’s soft hands on her cheeks and the wide eyes of Prince Roan of <em>Azgeda</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she wakes, she is in her own chambers, and she can hear the familiar and comforting sounds of a bustling Polis from beyond her windows and walls.</p>
<p>“Don’t move.” Lexa turns her head slightly, eyeing Anya, who sits at the chair by her bedside with a grim expression. It brings back memories of things Lexa wishes she could forget.</p>
<p>“How long?” she asks, simple and direct, attempting to sit up. Anya scowls.</p>
<p>“Costia brought that <em>fisa</em>. The one who…<em>sews</em>…wounds together. She took blood from Rox.” She grimaces, shuddering. “We watched you die, <em>heda</em>. You were white as snow, your pulse barely there. And this <em>fisa</em>…she brought you to life.”</p>
<p>“<em>How long</em>?” she asks again, this time a little angrily.</p>
<p>“A week.” When Lexa’s eyes widen at her weeklong absence, Anya snorts. “Titus and Gustus have managed just fine for you. Gail has sent herbs she claims her people use to dull pain.”</p>
<p>“And the Coalition?”</p>
<p>“We are eight clans strong. Though Gustus believes the Broadleaf Clan will surrender soon. It seems they are terrified of the <em>Trikru</em><em>gona </em>who wish to avenge their <em>heda</em>.” She pauses, smirking just a little. “<em>Jus drein jus daun</em>.”  </p>
<p>“And Prince Roan?”</p>
<p>“He was captured, brought to Polis for you. But several days ago, he escaped. He has likely gone back to his Queen.”</p>
<p>“I know what you want to say,” Lexa mutters after a moment, sitting up and resting against the headboard. The simple act leaves her breathless and her side erupts in a fiery haze of pain.</p>
<p>“I don’t think you do.”</p>
<p>“I should not have gone after Roan on my own. But he was one man.”</p>
<p>“I don’t fault you for chasing after Roan, <em>heda</em>,” Anya begins, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “However—” She cuts herself off when the door to Lexa’s chambers swings open and Titus barges in, his ears red and his eyes widening the second he realizes that Lexa is awake.</p>
<p>“You were to tell me when <em>heda </em>woke,” he snarls, glaring at Anya.</p>
<p>“I take orders from the Commander, not from you, <em>fleimkepa</em>.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” Titus begins, breathing harshly through his nose. “I must speak with you. Alone,” he insists when Anya does not move.</p>
<p>“Anya is my mentor and teacher, just like you,” Lexa mumbles tiredly, resting her head back. “You can speak freely in front of her.” Titus flashes Anya a disgruntled look, but he sighs, accepting Lexa’s orders easily enough.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” he begins slowly. “What happened a week ago was dangerous.”</p>
<p>“I was injured it battle, it happens all the time.”</p>
<p>“You risked your life in battle, <em>heda</em>. And you risked it for Costia.” When Lexa does not speak, Titus steps a little closer, his hands actually shaking. “You could’ve died. And your people, who depend on you, who need you, would have lost you before the Coalition even comes to fruition.”</p>
<p>“Aden or Kara—”</p>
<p>“—could not do what you are doing. No <em>heda </em>could. You are special, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>. Isolde saw it, I see it. And you risked your life for Costia because you care for her.” He looks at her sadly, taking the last steps towards her bed, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “There is a reason the Commander is alone, why <em>heda </em>is always alone.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t risk my life because I care for her,” she says, and she knows she is lying. Not only that, but both Anya and Titus are well aware she is lying. “I would have done the same for anyone.” That much, at least, is true. But Titus releases her hand and shakes his head, sweeping out of the room after a charged silence—during which it is obvious he wishes to speak but just does not know what to say—the doors slamming shut behind him. After a moment, Lexa turns to Anya. “I would have done it for anyone,” she repeats, frowning.</p>
<p>“I know,” Anya says, leaning further back in her chair. “But you did it for her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She is with Aden, Kara, and Saul when Costia finds her. Rather than interrupt the lesson, Costia stands back, content to watch as Lexa helps fix Aden’s stance and Kara’s footwork. She is still far too wounded to participate in the sparring, something she has taken to doing that Isolde never did, but judging from the looks the three <em>natblidas </em>send her, they neither care that this is uncharacteristic for her, nor worry about what it could mean. Mostly, they seem relieved, breathing in deeply when they look to her, searching for her opinion on their progress.</p>
<p>(Saul, young as he is, does not realize she is the Commander, does not understand what that means, and when she allows him to rest—reluctant to push the child too hard—he curls against her side, resting his head on her arm.)</p>
<p>(She does not make him move away, though she knows she should. It feels wrong to deny him comfort when comfort was all she craved when she was his age.)</p>
<p>It is Aden’s eyes, however, that Lexa is most anxious to avoid. He and Kara are smart, and it does not take them long to know exactly what they are. But while Kara has a quiet acceptance, a tenseness to her shoulders, as if she is unsure how to deal with the unexpected weight that settles on them, Aden is full of unbridled desire to never become <em>heda</em>. It shows in his actions and behavior, it shows in his comments, it shows in the effort he puts into his studies.</p>
<p>(He looks at her sometimes, and it is as if she is looking at her own reflection—as if he can see through the mask she puts up and knows that this was something she chose out of duty. She sees in his eyes things she felt for Isolde (things she dares not speak of now, things like respect, awe, and most damning of all, love). And she knows, if she ever asked him if he would want to leave—the same way Isolde once asked her—he would make the same decision she did. She is not quite sure how to feel about that—whether to feel the intense sorrow and shame she is sure Isolde felt, or if she should give into the pride that he is so worthy of the Spirit.)</p>
<p>All three <em>natblidas </em>bow low when she excuses them, Saul flashing her a smile he is too young to know she cannot return, and Lexa finds herself in the training grounds, unable to actually train, alone with Costia for the first time since she woke up.</p>
<p>She knows the Captain of her Guard has been busy, her hands full with setting up safe houses and even schools for the people she was ordered to protect. But Lexa also suspects Costia has been avoiding her. (Perhaps because Titus has ordered her to, perhaps because Lexa knows Costia and she is sure the other girl blames herself for what happened.)</p>
<p>“Anya reminded me that this is the second time I’ve gotten you injured,” she begins slowly, approaching Lexa. “Though her words were quite a bit harsher. <em>Branwada </em>was used a few times.”</p>
<p>“Once, I accidentally hit Anya in the face while sparring, and she pushed me into the mud and called me a <em>branwada</em>.”</p>
<p>“As far as I can remember, she did that more than once, <em>heda</em>,” Costia says lightly. That is the moment Lexa cannot take it anymore. She grabs Costia by the wrist, and drags her towards the garden, where they are safely secluded, and she pulls the girl to her chest, kissing her on an exhale, desperate for the contact, for the warmth, for the reminder that Costia is safe and alive and in her arms.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t have run after me,” Lexa says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Costia’s nose, then another to her forehead. “You could have gotten hurt.”</p>
<p>“And my mistake got <em>you </em>injured,” Costia says, guilt-ridden and shaking in her arms. “Lexa, I was so scared. You were pale and cold and there was so much blood and I—”</p>
<p>Lexa silences her with another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. She takes Costia’s free hand—the one that isn’t desperately tugging Lexa as close as possible—and places it over her heart, forcing Costia to feel the heavy beating, the excited thrumming.</p>
<p>“It wasn’t your fault,” she promises. (It wasn’t, even if Costia disobeyed orders. The fault, as Titus likes to remind Lexa, is her own. She let her affections get the best of her, let Lexa make a crucial decision in battle when <em>heda </em>was supposed to be in charge. Costia is not to blame; Lexa is.)</p>
<p>“Roan managed to escape. If I hadn’t—”</p>
<p>“Costia,” she interrupts, bringing their foreheads together and forcing Costia to meet her eyes. “There’s no point in dwelling on the past. I will heal. The Coalition is well on its way to forming. Roan is one man and poses little threat. All is well.” Costia nods, but Lexa can see the guilt and skepticism in her eyes, can see that she finds it difficult to believe anything is well.</p>
<p>“There is a small village. A two day trip from Polis.” She swallows hard, her eyes on the ground. “I hear there’s a man who won’t stop staring at the stars. He claims that one is not actually a star. He could cause problems.”</p>
<p>“I thought you wanted to protect the thinkers.”</p>
<p>“I do. But he is too vocal. The other villagers already consider him a pariah. I need to protect him from himself, hide him away, far from that village.” She sighs, pulling away from Lexa. But when she moves to step back, Lexa takes hold of her hands and shakes her head. “I will miss you,” she admits in a tiny voice, sounding broken and afraid and terribly sorry. Lexa realizes there is nothing she can say. No amount of assurances and promises that she did nothing wrong would be enough to shake the guilt that has taken hold of her. And so instead, Lexa tugs Costia forward once more, this time enveloping her in a hug.</p>
<p>“I’ve always loved the stars,” she says in Costia’s ear. “Perhaps this man is right. Perhaps he has discovered something new.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Lexa,” Costia murmurs, hearing the question Lexa cannot put into words for fear and terror. <em>Are you running away from me?</em>“I’ll only be gone for a short while.” Lexa heaves a sigh, holding Costia tighter, hiding her eyes in Costia’s neck.</p>
<p>“<em>Ai hod you in</em>,” she says, her heart pounding. Costia lets out a sound, something between a laugh and a sob, as she strokes Lexa’s hair.</p>
<p>“I love you so much, Lexa.” She has no idea how Costia finds the strength to pull away once more—had it been up to Lexa, she thinks she might have held on forever—and with one final kiss (soft and sweet, a promise of many more to come), Costia leaves with only a single look back.</p>
<p>And then Lexa is alone, staring up at the clear blue sky, her heart heavy and not quite knowing why.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A week passes, and when Costia does not return, Lexa begins to feel anxious.</p>
<p>“She is a capable warrior,” Titus tells her, but later, when she is alone with Gustus, he takes a single look at her face and tells her he will ride out to see what has happened.</p>
<p>When he returns, he informs Lexa that Costia never arrived at the village, that no one has seen her.</p>
<p>(Titus sighs, says that Costia has likely run away. <em>Like Glen tried to</em>, he does not add, though Lexa can feel him thinking it.)</p>
<p>(Anya hovers, claims that Costia likely found more troublemakers to deal with, that she would be back.)</p>
<p>(Gustus worries, asks if he should send out a few <em>gona </em>to search for her.)</p>
<p>(And Lexa, Lexa merely visits the garden more often, attempting to find peace and solitude, choosing to spend the precious moments she has free to stare up at the sky, rain or shine.)</p>
<p>It is many nights later, while she is listlessly tossing pieces of bread into her stew, that she knows Costia is never coming back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She is not asleep (she is never asleep these days) when the doors to her chambers open, and a frantic looking Wennin is followed in by a tense Titus. Anya, Gustus, Rox, and Indra lag in behind them, two more guards carrying in a large box.</p>
<p>“What is this?” she asks, putting her book away and getting up from the chair next to her bed (she has not been in the bed in days, but she refuses to think about why that is).</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, <em>heda</em>,” Wennin says, turning to glare at Titus. “I told the Flamekeeper you ordered to be left alone until morning. But he refused to listen.” Lexa nods and Wennin bows low, leaving the same way he came in, dragging the two guards with him.</p>
<p>“Explain,” she says tiredly, eyes flitting over Titus and resting momentarily on each of her advisors. “What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait until morning?”</p>
<p>“The Ice Queen has sent you a <em>gift</em>. Her <em>gona </em>claimed that she wanted it sent directly to your chambers,” Indra says, staring at the box with suspicion and anger. “I say we burn it and send our warriors to kill every <em>Azgeda </em>they see.”</p>
<p>“A gift?” Lexa asks, stepping forward. “What could Nia possibly want to send me?” With a nod from her, Rox and Titus drag the box—wooden and covered in blue and white cloth, a golden emblem on the side—forward. Dread pools in Lexa’s stomach as Titus struggles with the lid, swinging it open with a huff.</p>
<p>And there, right before Lexa’s eyes, is Costia’s head.</p>
<p>There is a moment—significant in its brevity—that the world is still. Lexa’s eyes do not move from the box, no one is breathing, the sun and stars themselves have stopped shining. But the moment passes in the blink of an eye, and Lexa finds herself swallowing, her eyes moving away from the box, her mind blank, focused only on the sudden pain that floods through her, dulling every other sense. (<em>I will be gone for only a short while. Don’t worry, Lexa.</em>)</p>
<p>(Her hair has been sheared off. Her beautiful dark curls are gone, and it is like another blow, Nia explicitly taking away Lexa’s right to grieve.)</p>
<p>(Her beautiful hair is gone, but Lexa would know those freckles dotting nose and cheeks anywhere—she has counted them, studied them, memorized them.) </p>
<p>“They must die! All of them, every last one. They will suffer for this,” Indra cries, moving to leave, moving to perhaps someway raise an army to avenge this death. (“Who are you?” she once asked. <em>A warrior, </em>Costia said. <em>I will be a warrior.</em>) Indra stills when Lexa does not even move, still overcome by the pain, drowning in it.</p>
<p>She says nothing, but Indra, Indra has a point. She <em>should </em>kill them all. Kill the fools who brought the box to Polis, the ones who obeyed their Queen’s orders, who were brazen enough to bring it up to her chambers. How easy, how right, would it be to slit their throats, let them <em>bleed</em>for their actions. <em>Jus drein jus daun</em>, there would be none who would fault her, blame her, argue against the righteousness of her actions—none who would deprive her of her justice, her vengeance.</p>
<p>“They killed Costia, they must die,” Indra says, as if she is sure Lexa has not heard her, fists clenched so tight that Lexa is sure she would draw blood. (<em>Lexa, it brings hope. We all need hope to survive</em>. Oh, but what hope was there now, she wishes to yell. What hope, when the one who made her dare to dream, the one who put such faith in her, was gone? What hope, Lexa wants to shout, to exclaim, to cry, what hope without you?) “This is an insult, <em>heda</em>. It cannot stand! Costia was not merely the Captain of the Guard. She was yours. This is an act of war.”</p>
<p>“An act of war,” Lexa mutters, stepping forward blindly. Gustus finally looks away from the box, his eyes on Lexa now, something about his gaze and set of his shoulders making him seem broken, and Lexa wishes she were not <em>heda</em>. Lexa wishes she could rush to him, bury her face in his chest, let him place his hand on top of her head, asking him for comfort and giving him some in return. But she is <em>heda</em>. She is <em>heda</em>. (<em>You belong to your people, Lexa. Let me belong to you. </em>No! No, she should have said. Stay away, she should have cried. She is death, she is destruction, she is <em>heda</em>, and even now, with her heart shattering, with her world falling apart, she cannot be Costia’s. She is <em>heda</em>. She belongs to no one, to everyone; she is alone, broken, hopeless. She is <em>heda.</em>) “An act of war,” she repeats, marveling at the fact that her voice remains steady, that she has not shed a tear, that her back remains straight despite feeling the weight of the world settle upon her shoulders—despite feeling the heavy burden of loss take its place somewhere between her shoulder blades.  </p>
<p>(Indra cries for war, but what point was there now, when Costia was gone?)</p>
<p>(<em>Don’t worry, Lexa. I’ll only be gone a short while.</em>)</p>
<p>“Commander, I agree with Indra, we must seek punishment, justice,” Anya says, but Lexa cannot understand, does not understand, not when she is unable to breathe, not when it feels as if the earth itself has opened beneath her feet, leaving her teetering and unbalanced. (<em>You belong to your people. But I will not let them break you</em>. Too late, she thinks now, too late. Without Costia, without her protection, her soothing words, her gentle embrace, Lexa feels herself shatter, crumble, break beneath the weight of her duties, her expectations. She is falling, falling, falling. Without Costia by her side, her soft kisses and selfless support, Lexa is gone, gone, gone for good. All that remains is <em>heda</em>. And <em>heda </em>belongs to her people.)</p>
<p>“We cannot let such an insult go, <em>heda</em>,” Indra says, her voice practically a growl. Lexa meets her eyes, swallowing, another thud of pain erupting in her chest. It feels worse than the pain in her side where a blade had sliced through her flesh. It hurts more than she thinks is possible. And the pain rattles and rages against her ribs, it makes its presence, its weight, its anger known. And Lexa continues to <em>drown </em>in it. </p>
<p>(<em>It is all right not to be all right. </em>She is not all right, Lexa knows this. She can tell from the way her lungs still expand and deflate. She can tell from how, somehow, she is alive when she feels nothing but an overwhelming pain, a pain she is sure will wash her away, leaving her broken and vacant and hopeless. She knows she is not all right because she is alive when Costia—her friend, her confidant, her lover, her <em>everything</em>—is not.)</p>
<p>She does not realize she has fallen to her knees, only feet away from the box, until she feels Titus kneel in front of her, his hands on either side of her head, trying to compel her into looking at him.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>. The pain is great.” He says it as if he knows, as if he has any clue. He says it as if he can feel it as well. (Once, Anya told her that the pain would pass. But not this. She is sure that this pain has lodged itself in her bones and muscles and blood, unwilling to ever release its hold on her.)</p>
<p>(She is <em>heda</em>. She is <em>heda</em>. So why is that so difficult to remember now?)</p>
<p>“You loved Costia, Lexa,” Titus says, bringing Lexa back, forcing her to look at him. She wonders if he knows her hands are shaking, that her breathing is becoming labored; she wonders if he knows that her bleeding heart has finally shattered. “I know you loved her.” (<em>Ai hod yu in</em>, she had said. I love you, she had admitted. But what had been the point of that love? What had she gained? What more did she have to lose?) “But you must listen to me, Lexa. To be the Commander is to be alone.” She shakes her head, her eyes falling on the box behind them. The surge of heartache is too much and she closes her eyes tightly, hoping against hope that it is all just a dream. She will wake up from this. It could not possibly be real. There is no possible lifetime in which she loses <em>Costia. </em>Not her. Not <em>her</em>.</p>
<p>But Titus does not know this, does not realize that Lexa wants nothing more than to run from reality, run from this truth, run, run, run. He does not know—could not possibly know—because he keeps speaking. “That pain you feel,” he says softly, still holding onto her face, “you feel it because you loved. That pain that brings the Commander to her knees? It is weakness, Lexa.” She could not escape him, his words, even if she wanted to. For once, for the first time, Titus is all that stands between her and a free fall she is sure she will never recover from. For the first time, she <em>needs</em>him. “<em>Love is weakness</em>.”</p>
<p>“No.” She shakes her head, unsure who had said no, wondering if it came from her own lips. But the earth beneath her has stopped shaking, ceased its efforts to knock her down. She is not falling and so she does not dare move away from Titus.</p>
<p>“<em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>, <em>Leksa</em>. And you are not weak. Do you hear me?”</p>
<p>“Stop filling her mind with nonsense,” someone says. Her eyes are still closed; she can almost imagine the soft kisses Costia liked to leave on her shoulder. She can almost feel Costia’s hot breath against her neck. “We must strike at the Ice Nation. We must prepare for our vengeance.”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>.” This time, she is sure that she is the one who has spoken. She is sure because Titus releases her and steps away from her. She is sure because when she opens her eyes, they flit over the box easily, ignoring Gustus’s broken gaze easily. Her voice sounds different to her own ears. Harsher, colder, harder. “Uniting the Clans is for one purpose only: peace. My Coalition cannot and will not be soaked in the blood shed in the name of vengeance.” She gets to her feet, Titus’s mantra repeating incessantly in her mind.</p>
<p>(<em>Love is weakness, </em>she thinks. The voices of the previous Commanders roar in agreement. <em>Weakness</em>, she can hear them chant. <em>Weakness</em>, they cry. And then two smaller voices, weak and barely intelligible over the shouts of the other Commanders: <em>No</em>.)</p>
<p>(<em>No</em>, the two voices whisper, but they are drowned out, overrun, outvoted. They are washed away in the cacophony, lost in the chaos, forgotten in the commotion, and Lexa spares them no thought at all.)</p>
<p>(<em>No</em>, they say. <em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>, Lexa fires back.)</p>
<p>She raises her chin, raises her head, something settling into her that she has not felt before—not after her mother’s death, not after Glen’s, Frieda’s, or even the death of Isolde. It is a numbness, a blankness, an emptiness she cannot name, except for the fact that it is an absence, and absence is better than pain.</p>
<p>“She killed Costia,” Indra argues, a frown on her lips. It is personal for Indra. After all, this is about Costia, a girl she knew, who Indra had liked—had claimed was a worthy head of the Guard. (<em>But I belong to you, and that is all that matters</em>. But no, nothing matters anymore, nothing, nothing but her people. Nothing but her people. She is <em>heda</em>. Love is weakness. And she is not weak.) “It is not vengeance, it is justice.”</p>
<p>“The Ice Nation will not see it that way. Their Queen is shrewd. She knows she can set her own people and others against me if she paints me as a selfish conqueror—out for my own desires, not for peace. I will not fall for a lowly trick, I will not let what we have created thus far fall apart because I want to make the Queen bleed.” She pauses, still not quite recognizing her own voice, not caring that Anya winces and Rox actually looks away. “It is a choice, and the choice is made.” (<em>The choice is mine, and I belong to you. </em>Back then, she had known the choice was wrong, and here now—so much time later—she has the proof.)</p>
<p>Here, now, with Indra staring at her as if she has lost her mind, Gustus’s gaze still broken, Anya hanging her head, Lexa finally understands. It was weakness to love Costia, it was foolish, it was costly. She is <em>heda</em>, and from the beginning, Isolde had told her that the things she cared for would always be used against her—always used against her, and thus her desires were no longer of any importance. And here is the proof, the evidence, the lesson—this final, critical, earthshattering lesson—hammering its way home: <em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>. Love is weakness, and Lexa is not weak. She is <em>heda</em>. She is <em>heda</em>. She is <em>heda</em>.</p>
<p>She swallows hard, spares one last glance at the box, and without saying another word—without bothering to explain further—she leaves her own chambers, unsure if it is possible for a heart to freeze solid, unsure if she ever truly had a heart at all (a feat that should never have been possible).</p>
<p>(<em>Ai hod yu in</em>, Costia had said. And now, with Costia’s blood on her hands, a war on the horizon, struggling with the weight on her shoulders with no one to shield her from its enormity, Lexa wishes she had never said it back.)</p>
<p>(<em>Ai hod yu in</em>, Lexa had said. Yet here now, she knows the truth.)</p>
<p>(I love you, they had said. But <em>hodnes laik kwelnes.</em>)</p>
<p>(And Lexa is bitterly strong<em>.</em>)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She adds to the Mark on her arm.</p>
<p>It is another set of swirls incased in right angles. But while Isolde’s straight edges framed the bottom, the swirls reaching for the sky, the second set boxes everything in.</p>
<p>(There is no more reaching for something new, something more. She has gone as far as she can—it is time to accept it.)</p>
<p>No one mentions the addition.</p>
<p>Lexa cannot find it in herself to care.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the months stretch on, winter fast approaches. Before she knows it, the air is frigid, the wind is icy, the days are short, and there is a shortage of good hunting grounds. It is a bad time for a war, Lexa knows.</p>
<p>Yet she wages it.</p>
<p>They move further west, crippling the Broadleaf Clan, debilitating the Rockline Clan, incapacitating the Shallow Valley People, each step a step closer to throttling the Ice Nation’s hold on the north. The death, the blood, the inability to keep up with the corpses, as well as people huddling together to stave off the cold, leads to the spread of illness. The disease follows death like wildfire, leaving destruction in its wake, leaving her people heaving for a respite, a moment to breathe. It is a bad time for a war, Lexa knows this.</p>
<p>Yet she continues to wage it.</p>
<p>War, she learned many years ago, is never pretty. War is death, is suffering, is pain, is pure annihilation. She finds that she hates war, loves war, revels in it, wishes to end it forever. Indra, with a rare look of approval, calls her ruthless. Luna, with an indifferent expression, claims she would follow Lexa’s lead, wherever that may be.</p>
<p>Gustus says that she is lost.</p>
<p>Four Clans refused her offer. Four Clans wished for war rather than peace. And now she grants their wish, she gives them war, she makes them regret every action, every word, every thought they had against her and her people. She would create the Coalition, she would keep her promise, she would bring peace. It will be her legacy, her final gift, her only purpose. (She belongs to her people, and she will give them this—this one thing no one else has ever attempted. She would do it through blood and pain and death.)</p>
<p>It is a bad time for war, Lexa knows. (Gustus says she is lost.)</p>
<p>Yet she pushes on. (He is right.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your job is to protect her, even if it is from herself!” Lexa stops, turns to stare at Gustus’s tent, Anya’s words ringing in her ears. This is not the first time she has overheard this particular argument—it has come up again and again as they march north—and she doubts Gustus’s answer will change anytime soon.</p>
<p>“She is not a child anymore, Anya,” he says, sticking to his script, sticking to the same phrase he has used again and again. “Gone are the days when we could soothe her fears and pain. She will not accept your embrace and cry on your shoulder as she did when Isolde died. Lexa is <em>heda </em>now.” This part is new, this part is said because he sees her through the flap of his tent, wants her to hear him—needs her to hear him. (But Lexa has stopped listening to her advisors, stopped caring. She needs no one, she is <em>heda</em>. And love is weakness.) “As Commander, she must learn to cope on her own.” She steps away, no longer interested, ignoring the thud in her empty chest, ignoring the pain she hears in Gustus’s tone, ignoring the fact that she desperately wishes for Anya’s soothing embrace, for Gustus’s strong presence. (She is <em>heda</em>. And love is weakness.)</p>
<p>(She is <em>not </em>weak.)</p>
<p>“Now that you have taken control of the Shallow Valley People, what will you do?” Rox walks in step next to her, his look knowing. He does not speak of what they both have overheard, and she is forced to quickly quell the gratitude that wells in her chest, pushing it away, back, as if it had never been there in the first place. (<em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>, the voices in the back of her mind whisper. <em>Hodnes laik kwelnes, </em>Lexa agrees.)</p>
<p>“The Broadleaf Clan has issued a surrender, and I believe the Rockline Clan will not be far behind. All that remains is the Ice Nation.”</p>
<p>“That is not an answer, <em>heda</em>,” Rox says, coming to a stop, staring at her. He is shivering in the cold (they are all shivering in the cold), and though he hides it well, she can see the worry behind his eyes.</p>
<p>“Not much remains until my Coalition is formed. Don’t worry, Rox. You’ll see Darrin soon.”</p>
<p>“He’s not who I worry about.” Lexa stares at her brother, sighs, and ignores the comment. Instead, she gestures to the men and women around them—her brave warriors, people who were willing to fight and die in this war because she asked them to.</p>
<p>“They deserve some rest before we march on the Queen. But we march on the Ice Nation in a week’s time.” He is frowning when Lexa turns back to him. “She invited war, so we will bring it.”</p>
<p>“You said you were not seeking vengeance.”</p>
<p>“And I have no intention of killing the Queen,” Lexa says, chin held high, expression blank.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda—</em>”</p>
<p>“I made a promise. I will bring peace.” And without giving him a chance to reply, she dismisses him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nia’s walls are impenetrable.</p>
<p>It is not just the cold surrounding her city—her palace—meaning that Lexa’s warriors must trudge through snow and frozen lakes, something they have learned can kill just as easily as a blade or as disease. It is not just the fact that food seems scarce, that it is hard to judge <em>Azgeda </em>loyalists from those who wish to defect, that Nia’s palace is safely ensconced by the mountain range beyond it.</p>
<p>The fact is, should they attempt an attack or a siege, they will wind up dead. For Nia’s environment shields her from Lexa’s army, and months of preparation on her part means she will outlast Lexa’s warriors through the winter.  </p>
<p>It is infuriating, and more than that, it is frustrating.</p>
<p>What she needs is for Nia to abandon her fortress, to compel the Queen to abandon her safety and her comfort. And yet, Nia is not stupid or naïve or even arrogant enough to give up her very clear advantage.</p>
<p>She will wait; she will let natural causes win her war for her.</p>
<p>“The easternmost section of her walls is weak,” Rox says, pointing to the map on the table. A high ranking warrior in Nia’s army had come to them in the middle of the night several days earlier, claiming he wished to help. (“Peace,” he had said, “is a cause I believe in, <em>heda</em>.”) His information, however, leaves Lexa more vexed than before.</p>
<p>(What was the point of knowledge if the knowledge could not even help them win their war?)</p>
<p>“Her archers would pick off our warriors before they even reached the wall,” Gustus says tiredly, motioning to the wooden figures littered on top of the map, representing their troops.</p>
<p>“We must divert Nia’s attention,” Lexa says suddenly, frowning. When no one speaks up, Lexa points to the rough sketches. “Nia has created a stronghold. We can pound forward as much as we like, but the way things stand now, we’ll never break through.” She leans forward, pushing a small portion of her wooden troops to the southwest. “But if we incite her to split her forces—to weaken those defenses over something she desperately wants—we can create an opening.”</p>
<p>“And what could possibly make Nia do something so foolish?” Anya asks, scoffing. “The Queen would never make such a tactical error.”</p>
<p>“All we need is the right incentive.” Lexa taps her finger against the table. “She would move the sun and sky if she thought she could get to me.” Silence meets her words as her advisors frantically attempt to come up with ways to dissuade her from this course of action.</p>
<p>“You want to use yourself as bait?” Rox demands, his eyes wide. “<em>Heda, </em>I don’t—”</p>
<p>“Enough,” she says, holding up a hand and turning away from the map. “A few dozen warriors and I will split from the majority of our troops and head towards the southwest. While Nia’s attention is diverted, our main force—led by you, Gustus—will attack.”</p>
<p>“But if Nia does not go after you? If she sends Roan?”</p>
<p>“Capturing Roan would give us an advantage.” When Gustus merely raises an eyebrow, clearly not following, Lexa sighs. “We can use him as leverage. While Nia may not care for her son, she needs him. Not only is he her heir, but you heard her general. The <em>Azgeda </em>may obey their Queen, but their loyalty is to Prince Roan.”  </p>
<p>“This is a dangerous plan, <em>heda</em>. You’re trusting a man whose word means nothing and you’re putting yourself at risk. There must be another way,” Rox says, leaning forward.</p>
<p>“I’m open to suggestions,” she answers in a hard voice, staring her brother down, her back stiffening. When he remains silent, hanging his head, Lexa clenches her jaw. “Perhaps you should waste less time on questioning me and more time on doing your job.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>,” he mumbles in apology, his eyes averted. Lexa ignores him.</p>
<p>“Anya. Choose the warriors who will come with us. We leave in a day’s time.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“How do you know?” Gustus asks before Lexa can dismiss them. “How do you know that Nia will risk so much just to get to you?”</p>
<p>Lexa feels her hands clench, feels something in her chest harden in response to the sudden surge of anguish. (She knows Gustus knows the answer to his own question. She knows he is trying to elicit a reaction, to force her to say a name she has refused to utter. But he should know better than to think such tactics—which may have worked on her as a child—do anything but irk her now.)</p>
<p>(She does not say what Gustus already knows: that Nia’s war is personal, that she cares less for her people and her rule than she does for a chance to soothe her wounded pride from when Isolde chose a child over her. She does not say what Gustus already knows: that the only thing Nia wants more than power is a chance to kill Lexa—and if that is not possible, to cause so much pain that Lexa <em>wishes </em>for death.)</p>
<p>“Get out,” she says instead, surprised the words made their way out from behind the grinding of her teeth.</p>
<p>They obey. (For some reason, she had thought they wouldn’t. For some reason, she had thought—or perhaps hoped—that Isolde would appear and reveal that all of this had just been another test.)</p>
<p>They obey, but that does not stop Anya from brushing her fingertips against Lexa’s wrist as she walks by. (It is not an accident. Anya presumes too much familiarity. Lexa should not allow this.)</p>
<p>(Yet she closes her eyes at the touch and swallows back tears at the warmth that flickers away as Anya steps out of the tent.)</p>
<p>(But it is better this way, she reminds herself. She is <em>heda</em>. And love is weakness.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are hopelessly outnumbered, which is probably why—despite the sound of horns blowing from far away, indicating a breach in Nia’s impenetrable city’s walls—Nia is grinning victoriously as she dismounts from her horse. Her <em>gona </em>completely surround Lexa’s small company—the two dozen or so warriors that Anya handpicked, telling each of them that they would likely be killed, nodding slightly when each of them claimed it was an honor to die for their <em>heda</em>—and though no weapons have been drawn, though no blood has been spilt, it is clear that Nia will emerge victorious.</p>
<p>(Or so she thinks.)</p>
<p>“My, my,” Nia begins, stepping forward, snow crunching beneath her boots as she approaches, “it seems we have caught the great Commander unawares.” Laughter erupts from her people, while Lexa’s warriors eye each other and the men and women surrounding them warily. “And it is not only <em>heda</em>,” she continues, close enough that Lexa could reach out and touch the scars that litter the Ice Queen’s face, “but Luna of the Boat Clan. Trina of the Plains Riders. How does it feel to know you have bowed to someone so unworthy of you?”</p>
<p>“You could kill us all now, but the Commander’s Coalition will not die with her,” Trina says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or don’t you hear the fall of your own Clan?” Nia glares at Trina momentarily before her eyes flicker back over to Lexa, her lips quirking into a smirk.</p>
<p>“Your Coalition is a farce, a bid for power, and I will not fall for such a measly trick.” She leans forward, breath fanning over Lexa’s face. “I will not yield to you, <em>Leksa kom Trikru</em>,” she says, her voice low and dangerous.</p>
<p>“Isolde was fond of stories,” Lexa begins, eyes not leaving Nia’s. She keeps her voice loud, her tone mild, as if they are merely discussing the weather or their latest hunt. “Do you know the story of the Oak and the Reeds? It was my favorite.”</p>
<p>“I have a favorite story as well, <em>heda</em>, though mine is considerably more <em>real</em>,” Nia hisses, and though Lexa feels something lurch in her chest, she does not rise to the obvious bait.</p>
<p>“A great Oak grew among a cluster of Reeds,” she continues, ignoring Nia entirely, “and when the wind blew, the Oak stood tall and strong while the Reeds bowed low.” Nia’s eyes narrow, her warriors look anxious, unused to a display of power like this. They cannot understand why Lexa refuses to cower, why the Queen does not tell them to draw their blades.</p>
<p>(They do not know what both Lexa and Nia know: this battle is theirs and theirs alone.)</p>
<p>“There was a foolish <em>heda </em>who allowed a mere girl to make her weak,” Nia says, watching and waiting for a reaction, disappointment flickering in her eyes when she does not get one. “And this foolish <em>heda </em>risked her own life for the girl, nearly <em>died </em>for the girl.” (Lexa’s heart beats wildly in her chest, so fast that she thinks it is not beating at all, and she marvels at the fact that she can still breathe let alone continue speaking without showing a hint of emotion. Weakness, weakness, weakness.)     </p>
<p>“The great Oak felt superior to the Reeds,” Lexa says, knowing her features have hardened, “and it boasted of its might, of how it could withstand howling tempests. But the Reeds knew better, and they warned the Oak that they had no reason to fear the wind, while the Oak had everything to lose.”</p>
<p>“And the foolish <em>heda</em>,” Nia says, hand straying dangerously close to the hilt of her blade, “allowed the girl to wander around where <em>anyone </em>could find her.” She smiles, the action looking grotesque on her, and shakes her head in mock sympathy. “And the girl was found and taken, and she was tortured and bled dry until she gave up all of the foolish <em>heda’s </em>secrets.”  </p>
<p>(<em>Love is weakness, love is weakness, love is weakness</em>.)</p>
<p>Lexa clenches her jaw, she swallows hard, the mantra repeating on a loop in her mind. She turns her head slightly, her eyes briefly focused on the horizon, and there, in the distance, she sees what she has been waiting for: smoke.</p>
<p>“The Oak felt victorious,” she says, eyes retuning to Nia. “But then a great hurricane came, and while the yielding Reeds remained safe and unhurt, the sturdy Oak—which had withstood so much—was torn up by the roots. And the great, strong Oak fell, finally bowing to the wind.” She takes a single step forward and points behind Nia, where Tomas leads several dozen <em>gona </em>forward, marching towards their Commander. “You resisted when you should have yielded, Queen Nia,” Lexa says, raising a single eyebrow. “And because of your stubbornness, your arrogance, you will be torn up by the roots and destroyed by the wind.” Nia growls as her warriors drop their weapons and hold up their hands, as they fall to their knees. She snarls when she feels a blade at her neck. “It is time you bowed,” Lexa says, ignoring Luna’s grin as she presses further into Nia’s neck.</p>
<p>“She didn’t scream when her fingernails were torn off,” Nia says harshly, hatred seeping into her tone as she inclines her head. “She didn’t even scream as my warriors sliced into her skin, bleeding her dry.” Luna’s grin twists into a look of disgust and hatred, Trina looks angry, and even Tomas—who never much cared for Lexa or her rule—looks horrified on her behalf. But Lexa, she maintains an impassive expression. She barely even blinks.</p>
<p>(<em>Love is weakness, weakness, weakness.</em>)</p>
<p>“Bow,” Anya snarls from somewhere behind Lexa. Nia smiles, though Lexa can see frustration in her eyes, agitation that she has elicited a reaction from everyone except the one person she wanted to hurt.</p>
<p>“But she cried, <em>heda</em>, when I explained that you did not care for her, that you did not search for her, that you abandoned her.”</p>
<p>(<em>Love is weakness, love is weakness, love is weakness</em>.)</p>
<p>“I am <em>heda</em>,” she says, back straight, shoulders set, eyes hard. “<em>Heda </em>does not love. She knew that.” She pulls out the knife gifted her to her, a knife worthy of a <em>heda kom kongeda</em>, and twirls it between her fingers. “I will not ask again, Nia. Bow.”</p>
<p>And Nia, with hate in her eyes, cheeks flushed with anger and shame, sinks to her knees and into the snow, inclining her head.</p>
<p>(She had once argued that <em>heda </em>and <em>Leksa </em>were one and the same. But it is now, staring at the top of Nia’s head, filled with melancholy rather than the relief she expected, that she realizes she had been wrong. And it is now, standing in the cold and listening to the cheering of her warriors and looking at the smiles on Anya and Luna and Trina’s faces, that she realizes <em>Leksa </em>no longer exists.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She returns to Polis, not to celebrations and revelry, but to silence and a somber mood.</p>
<p>Polis reeks of death.</p>
<p>Titus informs her that the disease spread quickly, that children suffered more, that many succumbed to the illness, too weak to fight. When Lexa asks why her people were so weak, Titus merely sighs.</p>
<p>Though she is exhausted from her trip, Lexa spends her first day back in Polis among her people, weaving through the sparsely crowded streets, speaking with worried mothers, pressing a hand to the hot foreheads of feverish children, reassuring fathers that the illness would soon fade. She first begins to feel a sense of shame after an hour among them, and as the day goes on, the feeling intensifies until she is unable to meet her people in the eye, worried that she will see reproach in them. (Anya tells her that her mere presence soothes her people, that they would suffer through more for her, because they trust her, have faith in her, and Lexa wants to scream, wants to shout, wants to shake them and ask if they knew what happened to those who had faith in her—if they realized this death was brought onto them because of her. But instead, she merely nods, swallows, and forces herself to meet their eyes, giving, giving what she could, for she is <em>heda</em>, and <em>heda </em>belongs to her people.)</p>
<p>(She realizes her people are different from her, realizes that they are weak, and she would give her life in order to ensure they remained that way.)</p>
<p>When she reaches Rox’s home, sees Tris standing outside the door with tearstained cheeks, she hides back, avoids being seen. From afar, she watches, something twisting in her gut as she watches Tris cry silently, as she watches Wren—Rox’s selfless, brave, kind wife—come out and stoically pull Tris in an embrace. She watches, paying no heed to the woman who steps up next to her, standing silently next to her with a blank expression.</p>
<p>“I am not your guardian,” Luna says softly, and Lexa remembers Isolde, her grey eyes, her misguided lessons, and it feels like a punch to the gut, like she has been drenched in icy water. Suddenly—with her eyes on Rox’s newest loss, with Luna’s strange presence, with her memories of the woman who was like a mother to her swirling in her mind—something in her positively aches. “I am not even your equal, not anymore.” Here, she eyes Lexa with a smirk, amused though she has no reason to be. “I am your subordinate in every sense of the word. But <em>heda</em>, I would give you a piece of advice.” Lexa swallows back all her emotions and turns to the woman with raised eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Speak,” she says, blinking slowly. Luna lets out a sigh.</p>
<p>“You say that love is weakness. But I remember the girl who risked her life to protect her people and her <em>heda.</em>” She crosses her arms over her chest, a frown tugging at her lips.“The walls you have put up, that hardness in your chest, it will not protect you.” She turns so that she is facing Lexa completely, her eyes earnest. “Beneath it all, you still have a bleeding heart, a broken heart.” She shrugs, and for the first time, Lexa wonders is she misjudged Luna—if perhaps Luna was far more stable than she ever gave her credit for. “Let it heal, child. Fortify it, let it come back stronger. Don’t bury it. Don’t hide it.” Her shoulders cease their haphazard movements and she stares at Lexa sadly, her blue eyes reminiscent of the way Isolde once looked at Lexa, and once again, she feels that ache deep in her chest. “Your heart was what made you, you. All you do now is make yourself suffer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She visits the garden, Wennin following close behind her. (This is new. Since returning to Polis, Gustus claims it is not safe for Lexa to go anywhere on her own. Wennin—and sometimes Reed—follow her like a ghost, trailing behind her, matching her every step.)</p>
<p>Wennin is chattering away. (This is not new—unfortunately for her.)</p>
<p>“I am sorry, <em>heda</em>,” he mumbles, cutting himself off suddenly. Lexa pauses her stroll, turning to look at him in confusion. “For what happened to Costia,” he elaborates, swallowing hard.</p>
<p>“You did nothing wrong. Besides, I’m fine.” (<em>You are a liar, Lexa, that is good</em>.)</p>
<p>“I know I’m not supposed to hear, <em>heda</em>,” Wennin begins, looking as if he is about to lose his nerve, looking as if he knows she is lying, “but I do hear. I hear you at night.”</p>
<p>(She pretends not to know what Wennin is talking about, she pretends he is talking nonsense, but the truth is that at night—when she is alone, when she has no more responsibility—there is a moment, brief and tantalizing, that she can allow herself to feel.)</p>
<p>(The fact that Wennin is privy to this truth is enough to make her hands shake.)</p>
<p>“Wennin,” Lexa warns, but for whatever reason, this galvanizes him rather than silences him.</p>
<p>“Aden says you have not spent time with him or the other Nightbloods since returning. And I hear you, <em>heda</em>. I hear you at night.” She glares at him, hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into her palms.</p>
<p>“You hear nothing and you see nothing, Wennin. That is your job.”</p>
<p>“But—”</p>
<p>“Do you understand me?” she hisses. After a pause—too long for Lexa’s liking—he nods shakily. “Now go. I don’t need someone following me around in my own garden.” He nods once more, bows low, and practically flees.</p>
<p>Lexa wants to lay back in the grass, wants to stare up at the sky as she once did, but instead she steels her shoulders, clasps her hands behind her back, and continues to stroll.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She literally runs into her brother on her way to see Roan (a Roan who has been frustratingly silent, who stares at her dolefully from the moment he notices her until the moment she turns to leave).</p>
<p>“Upset, <em>heda</em>?” he asks the moment she gets her bearings, falling in step behind her as she continues to walk.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“I heard about the rebels. Is that what you worry about?”</p>
<p>“No. They got their warning, now they will face the consequences.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t resort to this last time villagers disagreed with you. And not even Isolde killed people for disagreeing with her.”</p>
<p>“No, but she did kill them for breaking her laws. And the Coalition is law—we are at peace with the other Clans.”</p>
<p>“It takes time, <em>heda</em>,” Rox argues, grabbing her elbow, pulling her to a stop. She pulls away roughly, glaring at him—at his presumption—and continues to walk towards the dungeons, where Roan is likely dozing off, lazing away when…She closes her eyes, refusing to think of <em>her</em>, of the suffering Nia put her through. “It takes time for people to get used to the idea of peace,” Rox continues, not noticing her distraction. “You cannot erase generations of strife in an afternoon!”</p>
<p>“You believe I am being harsh, ruthless.”</p>
<p>“I believe you are taking this too far.”</p>
<p>“If a few must die to ensure our survival, so be it,” she snaps, on edge because of Roan and Nia and the reminders of Costia she sees each time she closes her eyes, fraying at those edges because of Rox. “I am doing what it takes to survive.” </p>
<p>“Yes, but you have forgotten why.” He lets out a heavy sigh, as if he is the one who carries a burden on his back. As if he is the one plagued with petty fights, death threats, and an immense responsibility to keep everyone alive. “You once said you would make the Coalition for Darrin. For my son, for the other sons and daughters. The peace was so that our children could live in a better world.” She can see a lethargy in him, a pain in his eyes, a slouch to his back. She sees it, and she feels an ache in her chest again (she wonders if it will ever go away), and she wants to go to her brother, embrace him, tell him that that is exactly what she is doing—that she is building a future for the Darrins of the world. But instead, she holds her head up high, keeps her gaze cold.</p>
<p>“Your son is dead,” she says, and she regrets it the second the words come out of her mouth because Rox closes his eyes, pressing them shut, his shoulders shuddering, as if he is holding back sobs. She regrets the words, but she dares not take them back. (Because Darrin is a loss she has not allowed herself to think of, a loss she is not allowed to contemplate. Because she fell in love with the child, with his tiny toes and fingers, his little breathing sounds, his gentle yawns, and he is gone. Gone like her mother and father. Gone like Isolde. Gone like Costia. Just gone, everyone is gone.)</p>
<p>“I know,” Rox answers softly. “I was there when illness took him.” His eyes are still closed as he continues, his voice gradually getting louder, gradually becoming more forceful. “I was there when Anya took you away. Watched as you closed yourself off. I was there when you became <em>heda</em>. Watched as you struggled beneath the weight of your burden. And I am here now.” His eyes open, meeting Lexa’s squarely, determined and hard. “But Lexa, I cannot watch anymore.”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about?” she asks, though she knows. (<em>Hodnes laik kwelnes, </em>she thinks.)</p>
<p>“Through it all, you were always you.” His voice is soft again, as if the fight has left him. As if he has given up. “I could see father’s strength, mother’s kindness, your own selflessness. You were an anomaly. The bringer of change.” His hands shake, and shockingly, his eyes fill with tears. (It is the first time she has seen her brother cry since they were children, since he asked her to leave and never come back, and somehow, Lexa knows where this is going.) “But now that the world is changing, as your vision comes true, you’re lost. My Lexa, my sister, my <em>heda</em>, my Commander, is broken. And I don’t know how to put you back together, and I cannot watch as you fall further apart.” Lexa stares at him, knowing where this is going (where she must take it), wishing she were brave enough to shed tears too, wishing she had the luxury of being weak. (<em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>, she thinks, she knows, she believes.)</p>
<p>“Then leave,” she tells him sharply, giving him what he wants—an out, an escape, a respite. “I have no need for you as my advisor. Your actions in the north proved that. Take Wren and go.” Rox does not speak. He merely steps forward, pressing a light kiss to her forehead, then walks away, leaving her alone. She waits exactly a minute before she continues to walk, heading towards Roan’s cell.</p>
<p>(<em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>, she thinks. And look how weak her brother is.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hair is matted, his cheeks are streaked with dirt, and a restless expression is on his face. He barely even turns from where he lays on the ground when she steps forward.</p>
<p>“I have no intention of dying, <em>heda</em>,” he says, raising his eyebrows as if he can read her mind, getting to his feet shakily. “And so far, being <em>your </em>prisoner has proven to be less stressful than being my mother’s.”</p>
<p>“You told your mother about her,” Lexa states dispassionately, unable to even say her name. “You told her what you saw.” It is the first time she has brought Costia up to him—it is the first time she has even allowed herself to speak with him without the thought of her people on the forefront of her mind. And surprisingly, more than the cell, the ropes at his wrists, the practically inedible food tossed at him, it seems as if <em>this</em>—this comment, this bluntly stated fact—puts a dent in his ironclad façade.</p>
<p>“You’re not the only one with a weakness, <em>heda</em>,” he says, his tone harsh. “And you’re not the first to have your weakness exploited.”</p>
<p>“And is that an excuse?” She has no idea why she asks, she already knows the answer.</p>
<p>“Excuse?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No, <em>heda</em>, it is a burden I share with you.”</p>
<p>“Titus has advised me to kill you.”</p>
<p>“The bald man?” Roan snorts, rolling his eyes once more. “I always did have issues with snakes,” he mutters, a grin on his lips. “I hope you know he is unworthy of licking the grime off your shoes,” he says, sitting up and leaning against the wall, hate in the twist of his lips. “Or my shoes, for that matter,” he says, forcing a smirk onto his face. He looks down at his filthy boots and wrinkles his nose. “Despite my current…situation.”</p>
<p>“Your mother asked for you back,” Lexa says, ignoring Roan entirely. At his stricken look, she almost allows herself a tiny smile. “You once asked me if it was worth it. Loving the woman who raised me.”</p>
<p>“I remember.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t,” she says, tossing him a knife.</p>
<p>“You’re smart, <em>heda</em>. But I hadn’t known you were a liar too.”</p>
<p>“I’ve sentenced you to exile. Trina’s people will house you for a short while, as a favor to me, but then you’re on your own.” Roan’s lips quirk into his first sincere smile and he shakes his head.</p>
<p>“I would take the Dead Zone over my mother, <em>heda</em>,” he says, and though he laughs, Lexa realizes he speaks from experience.</p>
<p>After all, she too has felt Nia’s wrath, and she is quite sure any pain is more tolerable than the one tearing apart her heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Indra wanted to kill him. But I said that exile would be more appropriate. He lives near the Reaper caves, foolish boy. A waste of a warrior.”</p>
<p>“How do you like Tondc?” Lexa asks, interrupting Anya’s progress report, looking up at her former mentor.</p>
<p>“It is not nearly as interesting in Polis. But I will make do. Why? Do you wish me to return?” Long ago, this comment would have made her laugh, made her chuckle. But Wennin came by earlier to let her know that Rox and Wren had disappeared (she dares not tell anyone that she told them to go, dares not admit that she gave such an option to a warrior), and that Tris needed a new mentor. Long ago, nothing depended on her, and she was free to laugh. Now, she is not too sure if the force of a laugh would break her ribs—ribs that already struggle beneath so much weight.</p>
<p>“No. I wish you to take Tris. She will be your new second.” Anya frowns, eying Lexa with a guarded expression.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, I heard Rox left, but…perhaps Tris should remain here?” She phrases it as a question and Lexa knows it is because she is worried about how Lexa will react.</p>
<p>“No. She should be far away from me. You will train her.”</p>
<p>“Lexa,” Anya begins hesitantly, the use of her name not going unnoticed. But Lexa does not react, refuses to. She keeps still, her head raised high, her gaze as cool as ever, her expression schooled into a mask of indifference. “The pain will pass.” The words, so achingly familiar, so terribly untrue, nearly breaks the last of Lexa’s control and restraint.</p>
<p>“You once promised not to lie to me, Anya.”</p>
<p>“We are all liars, <em>heda</em>.” She is silent for a moment, then sighs. “You sent Rox away—don’t pretend you didn’t,” she says, noticing that Lexa is ready to argue, “because I have known you for much too long to be fooled by your lies.” She huffs in satisfaction when Lexa closes her mouth, and then continues. “You sent Rox away, you have turned Gustus into nothing more than your protector, you killed the Elders, you spend no time with the <em>natblidas</em>, you barely speak to Titus, and now you’re sending me off with Tris.” She leans forward, eyeing Lexa carefully. “Is this how you choose to protect your heart, <em>heda</em>? By keeping your distance?”</p>
<p>“This is strategy, nothing more.” Anya stares at her, and for a moment, Lexa is sure she will argue. But then, Anya nods, inclining her head.</p>
<p>“You are a liar, Lexa,” she says, her smile lachrymose, the words taking Lexa back in time, back to when she feared Isolde, when she missed her family, when she still thought of everything in terms of tests (something she has ceased, because it only occurs to her now that they were never tests, but preparations. Never something to pass or fail, but something to get through, much like the pain, much like the sorrow). “That is good.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wennin and three other Guards stand behind Lexa’s wooden throne, two on either side of her, and she can hear their uneasy grumbling. Titus seems uneasy as well, though while her Guard stare at the eleven other Clan leaders with distrust and suspicion, Titus stares down at Lexa.</p>
<p>“Is it wise, <em>heda</em>?” he asks, frowning. “It is one thing to trust Luna and Gavin in Polis, but Nia?”</p>
<p>“We are here to set the Coalition’s laws in stone,” she says, eyes flittering over the chattering men and women. “Nia is a part of the Coalition.”</p>
<p>“She should be dead.”</p>
<p>“I’ve already explained why she cannot die. I won’t do it again.” He sniffs, looking practically petulant, but he nods, taking a step back. After a short moment, Lexa gets to her feet and as if by magic, the room falls utterly silent. Most of the Clan leaders look at her with expectation and something that resembles respect (it is not actual respect, she doubts any of them are truly capable of respecting the one who forced them into a peace they had not sought, but it is enough). The others—namely Nia—look on in disgust.</p>
<p>(She does not have it in her to be offended. She barely has it in her to care about anything other than her people’s safety.)</p>
<p>“In Polis, we remember the ghosts of our past,” she says, her own ghosts flashing before her eyes before she forces herself to blink them away. “We remember the Beginning, remember the pain and the suffering, the destruction and death.” Her hand goes to the knife gifted to her by the Delphi Clan leader, a quiet and quirky woman named Ava, and she grips the hilt tightly. “We remember all the horrors of the past in an effort to avoid repeating our ancestors’ mistakes.” She frowns. “And yet, we have repeated those mistakes anyway. We allowed meaningless disputes to tear us apart, and then we pulled the rift wider by succumbing to our anger and petty desires. This stops today.” Titus steps forward and holds up a long piece of parchment, edges frayed and worn. It is covered almost entirely by Lexa’s tight and neat scrawl, listing the laws that each Clan would have to obey.</p>
<p>“What is that?” Nia asks skeptically. “Your way of wresting power from us?” There are a few grumbles of assent, but for the most part, the other Clan leaders are silent, waiting for Lexa to continue.</p>
<p>“This is a charter. And you will each sign it with your blood. We are all bound to this Coalition.”</p>
<p>“And you will be its leader?” Elma of the Shallow Valley People mutters, looking skeptical.</p>
<p>“The Commander will lead the Coalition.” There are a few angry whispers, rebellious looks, all of which are silenced when Lexa raises her hand. She scans the room and holds her chin high. She thinks she catches the scent of Isolde’s hanging vine. But no, the weather is too cold, there are no blooming flowers—not now (and perhaps, for her, not ever). “In <em>Trikru </em>tradition, a Commander is removed through death or by the unanimous vote of the Elders.” She thinks of one particular Elder and her disbelief that this Coalition could ever form, and she thinks of Titus and his machinations behind her back. She swallows hard. “I have no desire for power, nor should anyone who takes charge. Thus, the Coalition will share the <em>Trikru </em>arrangement. Should the Commander prove to be unfit and is removed, a <em>natblida</em>—a child chosen by the Spirit—will Ascend, and they will lead the Coalition.” </p>
<p>“So only <em>Trikru </em>can become Commander?” Pel asks, his mouth pulled down in a deep frown. Lexa very nearly rolls her eyes.</p>
<p>“This Coalition means that we are all one people,” she says, staring at him until he blinks and looks down. “But <em>natblidas </em>are not only of <em>Trigedakru </em>origin. Lukas and Elia, two new Nightbloods, were found among the Glowing Forest People.” Gail has a smug smirk on her face as she bows her head in recognition. Not that she had done anything—not that Lexa would allow any meddling when it came to her Nightbloods.</p>
<p>“It seems,” Luna says with a grin, “that you have thought of everything, <em>heda</em>.” She ignores the glares the other Clan leaders send her, her eyes only on Lexa. “And while I appreciate details and would love to go over them in depth, perhaps now is less a time about niceties and particulars and more about celebration. After all, you have done what no other has even attempted since the Beginning.”</p>
<p>“I agree!” cries Clement of the Broadleaf Clan. He is large and his hair is almost white, but he seems eager and excited. “War and talking has gone on long enough. What we need now is food and drink and pretty boys.” He winks at Pel, who responds only with a slight roll of his eyes. “If you want me to bleed for you, <em>heda</em>, then let me bleed for you.” He pulls out his knife, and without prompting, he slices through his palm, bright red blood immediately blossoming from the wound. Before he has even put his knife away, Luna, Gail, Trina, and even Pel have mimicked his actions, their blood dripping onto the floor.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Lexa mutters, taken slightly aback. She had thought more of them would argue, she had thought they would attempt to haggle and dispute her laws and decisions. “There has been enough war.”</p>
<p>“To <em>heda kom kongeda</em>,” Ava murmurs as she slices through her palm. The stragglers—Alford of the Rock Line Clan, Elma, Gavin, and Tomas—follow suit, until only Nia remains. She stares at them all with a dumbfounded expression, and she shakes her head.</p>
<p>“Better to be a foolish Oak and fall, <em>heda</em>,” she says as she slices through her palm, her eyes glinting with the promise of revenge, “than to be the cowardly Reed who is low from the start.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: this chapter was initially two chapters, so it consists of some of my favorite parts in the fic as well as some of my least favorite parts. I'm nothing if not complicated. not so fun fact: this is the last completed chapter. I'm working on the next one right now. I really don't have a timeline for when you can expect it to be finished. on the bright side Evan Rachel Wood is a mere six years older than me. this is irrelevant to my life as a whole and yet somehow fills me with hope</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her first Ascension Day as <em>heda kom kongeda </em>is full of a revelry she does not take part in.</p><p>Preparations for the celebration had begun many days earlier, the smell of smoking meat and the sounds of drums and horns in the air. One man—one of the many Costia saved during her time in the Guard—mesmerizes children each night with fires that burn different colors when he tosses handfuls of powders into the flames. A tournament for the older children—just turned seconds—is set up on the training grounds, and they fight their way for a prize Reed and Anya have prepared.</p><p>There is dancing and music.</p><p>There are games and laughter.</p><p>There is food and drink.</p><p>(And behind all that, behind the joy and the revelry—behind Boat Clan <em>gona</em>eating with Shallow Valley <em>gona</em>and traders from the Blue Cliffs Clan chatting away with craftsmen from the Delphi Clan—there is a desperate urge to forget, to wash away the war and death of the past year.)</p><p>And through it all, Lexa remains in Isolde’s library, in the Commander’s study, and she reads. (…<em>Force your heart and nerve and sinew / to serve your turn after they are gone, / And so hold on when there is nothing in you / Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”</em>)</p><p>“Commander, this celebration is for you.” Lexa looks up at the interruption, surprised and annoyed, blinking away the words on the page before her.</p><p>“I’m busy, Reed,” she says once she recognizes the intruder. “Leave me.” Reed, however, does not seem compelled to obey. Rather than turn around, she steps further into the study, closing the door behind her. She looks around for a moment before she approaches Lexa, sitting across from her in the chair Lexa once perched in as Isolde taught her to read.</p><p>“You have had quite the month,” Reed begins, her eyes on the book open in front of Lexa. “Surely you don’t feel nothing.” Lexa hides her surprise that Reed is literate, instead choosing to shut the book, her eyes flickering up to meet Reed’s. “You have brought peace, as you swore you would. I would think if anything you would be relieved.”</p><p>“Ice Nation villages still deny the Coalition. Nia does nothing to quell her people’s rebellions. The Broadleaf Clan continues its meaningless skirmishes against the Glowing Forest People.” She lets out a sigh, resisting the urge to press the tips of her fingers to her temples. “There is no relief.”</p><p>“Meaningless squabbles,” Reed says, waving a hand. “You may have forced peace upon the twelve clans, but it will take them time to get used to it.”</p><p>“And when one of these meaningless squabbles turns into a war? What then?”</p><p>“Your Coalition will be put to the test eventually, <em>heda</em>. It is only a question of when.” She smiles, leaning back in the chair. “But until then, you should be proud of all you have accomplished.” When Lexa refuses to respond, Reed lets out a grunt and leans forward, hair falling into her eyes. “Did I ever tell you how I became a part of <em>Heda Isolde’s </em>Guard?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Isolde had just become Commander,” Reed explains, closing her eyes. “Between the infighting and disease, no one really thought Isolde would last. And then Nia’s <em>gona </em>burned villages, stole our resources, and people fell into line.” Lexa swallows at the reminder of Isolde’s mistakes, turns her head as she thinks of the woman who raised her, still somewhat unable to come to terms with the fact that the woman she loved was so flawed. “My older brother was killed by Nia’s warriors after several <em>Trikru </em>villages banded together to fend off the Ice Nation.” Reed opens her eyes, forcing Lexa to meet her gaze, eyebrows raised as if daring her to contradict the past. “I came to Polis to kill her. To get justice for my brother.” She smiles mirthlessly and shrugs. “When Titus stopped me, he told Isolde to kill me. He wanted me to serve as an example. But Isolde put me in the Guard.” She lets out a laugh, leaning back in the chair once more, her smile looking a bit more sincere. “Titus thought she was mad. <em>I </em>thought she was mad. But I never tried to kill her again.”</p><p>“Why?” Lexa asks, surprised the weakness beating in her chest does not make her voice waver.</p><p>“Before, it had been easy to imagine Isolde as an unfeeling and uncaring Commander. Bloodthirsty and power-hungry. But people are rarely so one-dimensional.” Reed’s smile disappears, turning into a melancholic frown. “Besides, no matter what wrongs Isolde committed, I will always be grateful Titus stopped me from killing her.”</p><p>“Why?” Lexa asks again, this time her voice a little softer. Reed opens the book and flips to the page Lexa was on, her finger hovering over the words ‘<em>Hold on!</em>’</p><p>“You have learned from your predecessor’s mistakes, <em>heda</em>,” she says, serious and sad and perhaps just a little bit sympathetic (as if she knows what Lexa is feeling). “You ended her wars and changed her laws. But now is the time to learn from her triumphs.” </p><p>“And what would that be?”</p><p>“Well, that’s obvious isn’t it?” Reed answers, now looking amused. “Isolde’s greatest success is you.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>He is in the middle of a lesson with the Nightbloods when Lexa finds him.</p><p>Aden and Kara lean next to Lukas and Elia, books open on their laps where they sit on the grass, mouthing out words as Aden mumbles them out loud. Titus is working with Saul, urging the boy to pick up the wooden sword he dropped when Titus had jabbed him in the side.</p><p>“Again,” he tells Saul, his tone harsh. Saul’s lower lip trembles, but he nods and picks up the sword, his legs spreading out wide, stance weak and shaky. Lexa steps forward, arms crossed at her chest, and Aden notices her. He taps Kara on the shoulder, and the two of them cease their reading lesson, choosing instead to watch Lexa.</p><p>But Lexa only has eyes for Saul.</p><p>Titus attacks first, swinging his wooden sword from above. Saul manages to deflect the blow, just barely, but just as he shifts to counterattack, Titus sweeps his legs out from under him, cruelly smacking Saul’s sword hand, causing the boy to cry out in pain.</p><p>“You leave yourself too open,” Titus snaps. “Again.” Lexa can feel Aden and Kara’s eyes on her, can feel them practically <em>begging </em>her to put a stop to Titus’s brutal lesson. But Lexa does not move.</p><p>(The same way Isolde did not still her hand when Glen was tied to a post.)</p><p>(It is a lesson, and some lessons are harsh by necessity.)</p><p>Aden gets to his feet, looking as if he is ready to take Saul’s place, but before he can step forward, Saul rises, arms and legs shaky, angry tears in his eyes. He can barely stand, his sword hand is bruised and he flexes it experimentally before shifting the sword to his other hand. He swallows hard and resumes his stance. It is painfully obvious that he has gotten up just to fall again.</p><p>(But he gets up.)</p><p>Titus’s eyes flick over to where Lexa stands and he nods subtly. Without using the sword in his right hand, he knocks Saul’s weapon out of his hand, then brings the boy to his knees with a blow to the abdomen. As Saul struggles to breathe, Titus backs off and Lexa approaches. When he notices her, he attempts to get up, attempts to bow and greet her.</p><p>Lexa merely shakes her head.</p><p>“You’ve improved,” she says, placing a hand on the crown of Saul’s head, pretending not to notice how his eyes flicker shut, how his shoulders relax, how his breathing evens (as if her touch calms him, relaxes him, as if her presence soothes him).</p><p>“I will never be a warrior, <em>heda</em>,” he whispers, ashamed and broken. And this boy, this child—with his closed eyes and trembling body—makes Lexa wonder where she went wrong.</p><p>“You did well, Saul,” she says, moving her hand so that she tips his head up by the chin. His eyes open slowly, and when they focus on Lexa’s, she notices that they are filled with tears. “The blood of a warrior flows through your veins.”</p><p>“I lost, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“But you fought on anyway.” She brushes his sweaty hair away from his forehead. “Go. Your lessons are done for today.” Saul nods, picking up his wooden sword, not looking at Titus as he shuffles away. Lukas and Elia bow, but Kara flashes Titus a dirty look and Aden stares at Lexa as if he does not recognize her. When they are alone, Titus lets out a scoff.</p><p>“He is weak. He slows the others down because they wish to help him. And even worse, they truly seem to believe they are brothers and sisters.” Titus steps up to Lexa’s right, watching the retreating backs of the <em>natblidas</em>. “Aden is particularly protective.”</p><p>“I require your assistance,” Lexa says, ignoring Titus’s assessment of her Nightbloods. (But her blood boils. Her hands clench into fists.) “I wish to speak to the previous Commanders.”</p><p>“Isolde taught you how to block them out but not how to let them in?” Titus guesses, turning his head slightly. “What do you need from the Flame?”</p><p>“You are the <em>fleimkepa. </em>Your job isn’t to question what I want to do with the Flame, but to obey me.”</p><p>“Forgive me, <em>heda</em>,” he mutters, inclining his head. “Very well. Shall we begin now?” At Lexa’s nod, he motions for her to sit before he settles down across from her. “Isolde showed you how to clear your mind. Do the same now.” She places her hands on her knees, closes her eyes, and sits up straight, shoulders set and neck extended. “Now search for the voices. Rather than silencing them, allow them to fill your mind.” Titus says something else, but Lexa does not hear it. In fact, if it wasn’t for the pressure of Titus’s grip on her hands, she would have thought she was only imagining his presence.   </p><p>Everything is white.</p><p>That is the only way she can explain it. The ground, the sky, the surroundings…everything is a startling shade of white. She gets to her feet, uncertain what she is standing on, uncertain if she is moving at all. (She can still feel Titus’s hands, and she wonders if perhaps she is inside the Flame—inside her own mind.)</p><p>“Peace never lasts,” comes a harsh voice behind her. She turns, startled to see a man she does not recognize. His face and hands are streaked with blood, his eyes are wide with madness. “Everything you do is doomed to failure. Everything we build is destined to crumble.”</p><p>“Where is Isolde?” The man cackles, but before she can question him further, he takes a step forward, and suddenly men and women surround them. Just over two dozen strangers appear out of thin air, some of them mumbling nonsense under their breath, others staring at her, chanting the word ‘stop’ until it becomes deafening.</p><p>“She won’t see you,” comes a soft voice. Lexa turns once more, and she is face to face with a woman with long dark hair and bright red lips. She has well-defined cheekbones, her head is tilted inquisitively to the side, and she wears a long white coat, the word ‘Becca’ stitched into the coat’s lapel. She is at once familiar and a complete stranger, and Lexa is at a loss for words as she stares at this woman, this Becca. She is so distracted, she barely notices the disappearance of the former Commanders.</p><p>“Why not?” she asks, the question bursting from her lips without her consent.</p><p>“You have inherited Isolde’s distaste for the chip,” Becca says with a smile. “But then, I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Isolde won’t see you.”</p><p>“She will. She has to. I <em>need </em>her.”</p><p>“You have the other Commanders at your disposal. Use them.”</p><p>“No. I need <em>hed</em>—I need Isolde.”</p><p>A frown tugs at Becca’s lips and Lexa thinks she is about to repeat what she said before. But then she is gone and in her place stands Isolde, her grey eyes sparkling, her shoulders and back unencumbered. She stands tall and looks…free.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>,” Lexa mumbles, unable to help the tears that prick at her eyes, unable to help the weakness in her knees.</p><p>“My dear girl,” Isolde says, and shockingly—unbelievably—she steps forward and engulfs Lexa in a tight embrace, allowing Lexa to bury her face in her shoulder. “You were supposed to shut the Commanders out, not go searching for us.” And—as always—in Isolde’s presence, Lexa feels all her guards and walls slip, feels herself becoming weak, knowing Isolde does not intend to judge (knowing that it is all right). And, as always, Lexa breaks down in front of her <em>heda</em>.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>, I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t bring peace, I can’t protect the Nightbloods, I can’t keep Titus in line, I couldn’t even protect <em>Costia</em>.” The last word comes out as barely a whisper, stuttered and slipping out from between clenched teeth. She trembles in Isolde’s arms (in her mother’s arms) and attempts to quell the sobs that threaten to tear out of her throat. “I can’t do this. I just can’t.”</p><p>“You <em>can</em>.”</p><p>“No. No, Titus was right. I’m not strong, I’m brittle. And I’ve shattered and broken. <em>Heda</em>, I don’t <em>feel</em>…anything.” Rather than a lesson, rather than the disappointed look Lexa expects, all she gets from Isolde is a tighter hug. “What am I doing?” Lexa mumbles against her predecessor’s shoulder, clutching tightly to her.</p><p>“You are doing the best you can, child,” Isolde says, pulling back a little and taking Lexa’s face in her hands. Her thumbs smooth back errant strands of hair, her eyes search Lexa’s face frantically, as if she is committing every freckle, scar, and wrinkle to memory, as if she has been starving and Lexa is her first chance at a meal. “And you have done so much.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Your Coalition is something no other Commander even <em>attempted</em>. You are raising Nightbloods who will continue your legacy. And you’ve already found ways to keep Titus in line. You have done so much, <em>goufa</em>. You just need to open your eyes to it.”</p><p>“I regret her, <em>heda</em>. Meeting her, loving her. Because if I hadn’t maybe—” <em>Maybe this pain would never be, maybe breathing would not take so much effort, maybe the anger and hate and </em>helplessness <em>would fade. </em>But she does not say any of that. Instead, she cuts herself off, and Isolde gently wipes her tears from her cheeks, expression soft and sad (and full of understanding).</p><p>“I know, child,” she says. “There is no cure for regret. But there is no shame in love. Do you understand?”</p><p>“You once told me to harden my heart.”</p><p>“I did. But there is a difference between being hard and being broken.” When Lexa does not answer, Isolde lets out a shaky laugh. She pulls Lexa in for another hug, and there is finality to it, a sense that this is truly goodbye. “You don’t need the Flame, Lexa,” she says, confirming Lexa’s suspicions. “And you don’t need me.”</p><p>“But <em>heda</em>—”</p><p>“I am not <em>heda</em>. You are.” She snorts, and Lexa feels something wet on her shoulder, as if Isolde is shedding tears. “I keep calling you a child, but you haven’t been one in a very long time, have you?” She steps back, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. (She makes no move to hide it, to wipe it away, pretend it is not there.)</p><p>(Here, within the Flame, Isolde feels no need to hide her weakness. Here, within the Flame, Isolde does not seem to think her feelings are weakness at all. And here, within the Flame, Lexa agrees with her.)</p><p>“I can’t do this alone.”</p><p>“You have a good head, <em>Heda Leksa</em>,” Isolde murmurs, “but you have an even better heart.” When Lexa ducks her head and closes her eyes, Isolde leans forward and presses a feather-light kiss to her forehead. “The pain will pass,” she whispers. “You just need to give yourself time.”</p><p>Lexa does not open her eyes, she does not look up. She stands there, still and silent, unwilling to watch Isolde fade away a second time. Instead, she focuses on the pressure on her hands, focuses on Titus, and when she does open her eyes, she is sitting across from him, the sky considerably darker than before (the only indication of just how much time has passed).</p><p>“Did you get your answers, <em>heda</em>?” he asks, frowning when Lexa does not immediately get to her feet. Instead, she looks at him and tilts her head to the side, effortlessly hiding behind her walls and her guards and the impassive expression she thinks has become permanent.</p><p>“I will take over training of the Nightbloods again. I have been away from them for long enough.” Titus frowns, but he does not question her orders.</p><p>“<em>Sha</em>, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“And I expect to meet your second in three days time. I hope the child you have chosen is tolerating your training well.” She knows, from the way he averts his eyes and the nervous tick of his fingers, that he had thought she had given up on this—had forgotten about it. And she knows, from the way his mouth curls and his breathing becomes more ragged, he has not chosen a second. But rather than confront him, she closes her eyes. “Now leave me.”</p><p>It is long after Titus is gone, long after she has cleared her mind and silenced the previous Commanders, that she gives in to the pounding of her heart (screaming at her to <em>exist</em>, for just a moment to just <em>be</em>) and lays back in the grass, her eyes on the starry sky.</p><p>
  <em>The pain will pass. You just need to give yourself time.</em>
</p><p>(She is not quite sure she believes it. But for Isolde, she wonders if she is willing to take the chance.)</p><p>“Farewell, Isolde,” she whispers in the darkness and she thinks she catches the glimmer of a smile, and a flicker of grey eyes.  </p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She is not altogether surprised when he finds her, his brows furrowed, his expression troubled.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>,’ he mumbles, disgruntlement obvious in his tone. “May I speak with you?” He shifts from foot to foot, eyes on the ceiling, and Lexa cannot help the small laugh that escapes her. (It is mirthless and barely audible, but it is a laugh.)</p><p>“Have you eaten yet, Aden?” she asks, and when he shakes his head, she motions for him to sit next to her. She piles a plate with fruit, cheese, and venison, tearing a big chunk of the thick brown bread for him as an afterthought. (She remembers the food she had with Anya and the other warriors and seconds. She remembers the watery and flavorless stews, the days spent hunting beyond the walls of Polis only to end up giving the food to families who did not have enough. She remembers never being hungry exactly, but never having enough.) Aden stares at the meal for a moment, looking conflicted, and Lexa nearly rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, Aden. I’ll make sure the others get the same meal.” Aden frowns, looking at her skeptically, and this time, Lexa actually does roll her eyes. “Wennin!”</p><p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>?” the Guard says, opening the door and stepping forward.</p><p>“The Nightbloods have had a long day. Make sure they all get a good meal.” Wennin grins, probably more smugly than she should allow, and he nods, leaving without another word. And Aden, with a smile, finally digs into his food. She watches him eat for a moment, knowing why he is here, knowing exactly what he wants to say, curious only as to how he intends to broach the subject.</p><p>(She wants to know just how alike they are.)</p><p>“You wanted to take Saul’s place today,” she says, deciding to help Aden out a little. He looks relieved as he swallows, the tightness to his shoulders finally dissipating.</p><p>“He isn’t weak, <em>heda</em>,” Aden says fiercely, and Lexa can see what Titus had meant when he called Aden ‘protective.’ “Titus picks on him because he knows Saul has trouble with sparring.”</p><p>“Perhaps the Flamekeeper merely wishes to help Saul practice.”</p><p>“<em>I </em>can help Saul practice. Kara and I. We’re already teaching Lukas and Elia everything we know. He doesn’t need Titus. We don’t need Titus.” He says the last sentence harshly, his eyes hard. Lexa stares at him for a moment and shakes her head.</p><p>“He is doing what I told him to do, Aden,” she says softly. When Aden meets her gaze, he looks betrayed. “The five of you are <em>natblida</em>. One day you will need to take my place. None of you can afford to be weak.”</p><p>“But Saul is not <em>weak</em>. He’s just a child!” She nearly closes her eyes, she nearly breaks, she nearly reaches out to pull this boy—this <em>child</em>—into an embrace, aching at the thought that he has grown up so much in such a short time. (He is like her, he is so much like her, and she wonders again where exactly she went so wrong.)</p><p>“You and I may believe Saul is capable and strong, but you saw him today. He was ready to give up.”</p><p>“But he didn’t.”</p><p>“Yes, this time. Titus’s job is to push and push, to ensure you won’t break. Because once you become <em>heda</em>, there is no room for mistakes. There is no one to help you.”</p><p>“Did <em>Heda Isolde </em>do this to you?” Aden asks, tone bordering on accusatory.</p><p>“I was forced to do much worse than merely spar until my hands bled,” Lexa says shortly, hardening all at once. “Besides, none of this matters anymore anyway. I will be taking over your training.”</p><p>“You haven’t trained with us since—”</p><p>“I’m well aware,” Lexa snaps, and Aden hangs his head, finally cowed, knowing he has overstepped. “Titus will still oversee most lessons. But perhaps if I am the one who spars with the five of you, there will be less room for complaining.” She stands, placing a hand on Aden’s shoulder to prevent him from getting up, unable to help it when—unbidden—her hand moves to gently brush Aden’s hair. “Finish your meal, child,” she says, pretending she misses the way Aden leans into her touch, a child craving the embrace of a mother. (And yet, Aden is not a child, and she is not his mother.) “And learn to allow Saul to fight his own battles.”</p><p>“He is my brother, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>(She says nothing else, but she does not need to. With two words she not only tells Aden she understands why he feels he must protect Saul, but she also tacitly encourages that feeling.)</p><p>(A smile tugs at Aden’s lips, and for the first time, Lexa thinks she has done something right.)</p><p>(If she was Isolde’s greatest success, then her own would not be the Coalition, but the five <em>natblida </em>under her care. And this, at least, is a promise she knows she can keep.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>With spring comes blooming wisteria flowers and trips to the twelve clans in an effort to solidify the Coalition. Ambassadors of each clan show her around, introducing her to food and customs she had never heard of, things that they offer to share with the other clans.</p><p>There is the stringed instrument in the Delphi Clan that nearly everyone she meets seems to know how to play, children jumping at the opportunity to show off in front of <em>heda kom kongeda</em>.</p><p>There is a strange stew that smells awful but tastes divine, warm and filling and rich, that the people of the Broadleaf Clan feed her.</p><p>There is a strange dance she is taught while she is among the Glowing Forest People, her heart feeling like it is beating in tandem with the pounding of the drums.</p><p>There is beautiful, bright clothing among the Shallow Valley People, weapons she has never seen before with the Rockline Clan, horses of different sizes and breeds among the Plains Riders, and mirrors with frames adorned with colorful stones littered about the Blue Cliffs Clan.</p><p>(Strange looking fish—seasoned with spices that make her eyes water—from the Boat Clan, pottery from the Lake People, strong drinks that make her head spin and cheeks flush from the Desert Clan.)</p><p>(Furs in the Ice Nation—as well as three <em>natblidas, </em>two girls and one boy.)</p><p>She meets warriors and traders and craftsmen and healers and even the ‘people of science’ that Costia was so fond of (these men and women seem especially keen to impress her, perhaps wanting to show that she has not wasted her efforts on them, and she learns of new medicines and parchment making and better ways to grow crops).</p><p>She meets fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters, and she has food and trinkets pressed into her hands everywhere she goes, people muttering things under their breath that she does not feel she deserves.</p><p>(Things like ‘peacemaker’ and ‘savior’ and ‘protector.’)</p><p>And when she returns to Polis mid-summer, she is not alone. Men and women from every clan—from every profession and creed—come with her. Seemingly overnight, Polis is transformed.</p><p>It becomes a center of trade, the roads to and from the city becoming well worn and busy. It becomes a place with broken English, fact-paced <em>Trigedasleng</em>, and garbled dialects from the furthest regions of the twelve clans. Food becomes more eclectic, music fills the streets, and Joining ceremonies between people who would never have met without the Coalition begin to take place.</p><p>Seemingly overnight, Polis becomes a true city, a shining beacon of hope and change, the jewel of the twelve clans…a city upon a hill.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean ‘she’s dead?’” Lexa hisses from where she sits on her throne, staring down at the Ice Nation ambassador. He is a thin man with wiry gray hair, and he wipes his palms on his pants every few seconds, almost as if he cannot help it. Two children, one of the girls and the boy she found in the Ice Nation, stand far behind him, eyes focused on the ground.</p><p>“There were bandits on the roads, <em>heda</em>,” the ambassador strives to explain. “The girl…her throat was slit.”</p><p>“And yet the rest of you survived?”</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>—” He cuts himself off as soon as she holds up a hand, adopting the same position as the children behind him, his head hung low, eyes focused on the ground.</p><p>“Go back to your Queen. Tell her it is her duty to keep the roads in her own lands safe. If she does not, I will ensure she has no lands to rule over. Do you understand me?” The ambassador nods violently, and he looks visibly relieved when she waves him off, excusing him. He stumbles out of the war room and Lexa turns her attention to the two children.</p><p>“Welcome to Polis, Maia and Cain,” she greets them as she stands, ignoring their terrified expressions. “Come, walk with me. We have much to discuss.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Anya glares at Tris the same way she once glared at Lexa. (For whatever reason, that leaves Lexa feeling both vaguely warm and strangely irked.)</p><p>“Get up, <em>branwada</em>,” Anya tsks when Tris loses her footing as they hike through the forest around Tondc, looking for game. “You embarrass me in front of the Commander.” When Tris takes too long for Anya’s liking, Lexa’s former mentor rolls her eyes and pulls Tris up by the collar of her shirt, ignoring Tris’s protests. “Why didn’t you just bring the <em>natblidas </em>with you when you left the Ice Nation?” Anya asks, turning back to Lexa when Tris runs far ahead, her eyes on a grazing doe in the distance.</p><p>“I had other Clans to visit. It was simply easier.” She wipes sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. “And now a girl is dead.”</p><p>“You couldn’t have predicted a raid, <em>heda</em>,” Anya says, raising her eyebrows. “But this doesn’t explain your visit. Did Nia rattle you more than you want to admit?”</p><p>“It’s almost been a year,” Lexa admits softly, eyes on Tris rather than Anya. “I didn’t want to be in Polis.” Anya studies Lexa’s face for a moment, and not for the first time, Lexa is grateful that her former mentor seems to hear all that she cannot say, because after a moment of silence, Anya changes the subject entirely.</p><p>“So has Titus found a second, or is he still attempting to stall?”</p><p>“He has,” Lexa mumbles, frowning. Titus’s choice still unnerves her. “He chose Jon.”</p><p>“The aide? The one who was so loyal to you?”</p><p>“I don’t know if he chose Jon because he knows I’m fond of the boy or if he thought that fondness would force my hand and I would change my mind. But either way, Titus worries me.”</p><p>“Do you think he’s a threat?”</p><p>“No,” Lexa answers slowly, watching Tris nock an arrow and take aim. “At least, he is no threat to me. But to my plans…”</p><p>“You are <em>heda</em>,” Anya says, her tone softening. “There is no need for you to discuss your plans with anyone. Not even the <em>fleimkepa.</em>”</p><p>“I’ve taken over training of the Nightbloods again,” Lexa admits. Tris releases the arrow, her aim true. The doe’s hind legs buck up before racing away, only getting so far before collapsing. Tris lets out a cheer, grinning widely, and when Lexa turns back to Anya, she is rolling her eyes.</p><p>“And you came to Tondc to tell me that?”</p><p>“I came to Tondc to let you know that you will be returning to Polis by Ascension Day. I believe I’ve punished Indra long enough.”</p><p>“And will Tris come with me, <em>heda</em>?” Anya asks, and had it been anyone else, Lexa would have believed the question is innocent. But from Anya…from Anya it means she has heard more than Lexa has said.</p><p>“Of course. She is your second after all.”</p><p>“And she is your sister.”</p><p>“No,” Lexa says, finding that she is not lying. “She was never my sister.”</p><p><em>She was supposed to stay, </em>she does not say.</p><p><em>She was supposed to be a farmer, </em>she does not say. </p><p><em>She was supposed to have a family</em>, she does not say.</p><p>(And though she does not say any of it, she knows Anya has heard every word.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Between the Nightbloods and maintaining the Coalition, Lexa barely notices the months go by. She notices the cooler air, notices that Gustus has taken to reminding her to eat and dress for the weather, notices that Wennin no longer gives her worried looks (instead consistently sporting a look of mild acceptance).</p><p>(She thinks that the coming winter will be an easy one—the first winter as a Coalition, the first time there is no war, the first time no one in the Ice Nation is going hungry, the first time the Shallow Valley People have warm clothes to last through the cold.)</p><p>(She should have known better than to think anything would ever come easily.)</p><p>“I saw it, <em>heda</em>. Something fell from the heavens. Something big and fiery.” (He is the man Costia died for, the pariah who would not keep quiet about stars that were not stars. Lexa hates him, hates him unfairly for something he had no part in and yet serves as an awful reminder of, and when she looks at him, she only sees Costia in his place.)</p><p>“Is it the star?”</p><p>“No. But whatever it is, it <em>must </em>be investigated,” the man urges her. Titus steps forward, Jon trailing awkwardly behind him, but Lexa shakes her head, not needing the Flamekeeper’s advice.</p><p>“Send scouts, Gustus. They’re merely to determine if this…object…is dangerous. No one is to approach it.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Anya returns with the scouts several days after the object has crashed into their land, her expression grim, her posture and tone weary.</p><p>“They are…children. Few older than sixteen or seventeen summers,” she says, standing in the middle of the circle of ambassadors, her eyes on Lexa only. “They wear strange clothes, seem…enchanted…by the most mundane of things. The trees and grass and flowers seem to astound them.”</p><p>“This has happened before,” says the ambassador from the Lake People, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Small metal pods fall from the sky filled with creatures like the Mountain Men? It is a bad omen, <em>heda</em>. These children should be killed.”</p><p>“How many?” Lexa asks Anya, ignoring the ambassador’s comment.</p><p>“About a hundred.” She pauses, looking like she wants to add something else, but then her expression hardens. “A group of them strayed too close to the Mountain. Our <em>gona </em>redirected them, used one as a warning.”</p><p>“But none are dead?”</p><p>“Lincoln claims there are two graves. Dead before they touched the ground.”</p><p>“They are a threat, clearly,” Titus says, stepping forward so that he stands in front of Anya. “Gather <em>gona </em>from the twelve clans. Eliminate these children.”</p><p>“I wish to speak with Anya alone.”</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p><p>“Get out.” Ambassadors and guards mumble under their breath as they shuffle out the door, only the Ice Nation ambassador brave enough to shoot Lexa a dirty look as he walks away (he is new, a replacement after Lexa sent the last one back home with threats—Nia exercising the little power she has just to be difficult, just to make a point). Titus looks ready to argue, but when Lexa avoids his gaze altogether, he lets out a sigh and sweeps out of the room as well. “What is it you’re not telling me?” she asks Anya, watching her former mentor carefully. When she does not respond immediately, Lexa stands, motioning for Anya to follow her out to the balcony. “What is it, Anya?”</p><p>“Indra believes they’re a threat. But <em>heda</em>, most of them merely seem foolish. They cannot hunt, they cannot build fires or shelters, they argue amongst themselves continually. They’re <em>children</em>. True children, almost as vulnerable and weak as infants.”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“But one boy, the eldest of them, he has a <em>gon</em>.”  When Lexa remains silent, Anya’s shoulders seem to drop. “What if they <em>are </em>like the Mountain Men? What if these children are more than they seem?”</p><p>(She worries about the same thing.)</p><p>(She does not want to kill children.)</p><p>(Her people come first.)</p><p>“If these <em>Sky People</em>,” she says the words disparagingly, bitterly, “are as foolish as they look, then the coming winter will take care of them for us. Leave them be.” Anya nods but before she can turn away, Lexa grabs her by the wrist, keeping her in place. “I’m sending a hundred <em>gona </em>with you, Anya. In case there is more to them than meets the eye.” <em>Kill them all if they step one toe out of line, </em>Lexa is saying, and by the way her former mentor looks at her, she understands. She nods once more, and when she pulls away, Lexa lets her. She is only a few steps away when she pauses and turns around, her expression open for the first time since arriving in Polis.</p><p>“Lexa,” she begins, sounding concerned. “Are you all right?”</p><p>“I am,” she answers shortly. Anya’s concern, however, does not dissipate. If anything, she seems more troubled. She opens her mouth then promptly closes it once more, seemingly deciding against saying anything at all.</p><p>(And Lexa is not like her mentor, and she does not hear all the words Anya cannot say.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Our villages burn to the ground while you do nothing!” From behind her, Wennin growls in warning, but Lexa merely twirls her knife between her fingers, staring at the villager who had rushed to Polis to bring her news of the Sky People’s act of war.</p><p>“I sent warriors to deal with them.”</p><p>“And I hear the Sky People defeated them in battle.” The villager takes a few deep breaths, as if he is steeling himself to speak up. “You sent no warriors, you sent cowards and weaklings.” She has no idea how true this villager’s information is, but Anya’s messengers have not come in days. Even if she was willing to give Anya the benefit of the doubt, there was no debating that <em>something </em>had gone wrong.</p><p>“Tristan!” she calls, and the bald, tall, lean Guard immediately steps forward, one hand over his heart.</p><p>“<em>Sha, heda?</em>”</p><p>“Ride out to Tondc with three hundred <em>gona</em>. You’re to relieve Anya of her command.”</p><p>“But Commander, Anya—”</p><p>“—has clearly failed. You won’t make the same mistake, will you?” She barely waits for Tristan’s shaky nod of acceptance before she digs the point of her knife to dig into the arm of her wooden throne. She gets to her feet, and just as she had with Anya what feels like ages ago, she motions for the villager to follow her out onto the balcony. “You questioned my rule,” she says softly, hands clasped behind her back. The villager looks at her questioningly. “Surely you didn’t think you’d leave Polis with your life.” She waits until she sees it dawn on him, waits until comprehension floods his features, and then she kicks him, knocking him off the railing. Without pause and without guilt she turns to face Tristan. “I want the Sky People dead. All of them,” she hisses out, tone hard and harsh.   </p><p>This time, his nod is anything but shaky.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“People fall from the sky, more than three hundred of our warriors are burned alive, and then even <em>more </em>of these people fall, destroying our lands and setting fires,” Titus heaves a breath, eyes wide and hands shaking, “and now you tell me that you wish to go deal with the threat <em>yourself</em>?”</p><p>“I am <em>heda</em>, this is my duty.”</p><p>“Without you, the twelve clans will be back at each other’s throats. Send Gustus. Or me. But you, <em>heda</em>. You cannot go.”</p><p>“I wasn’t asking for permission, Titus.” She buckles the cumbersome shoulder guard, tightens the straps of her coat. “This issue arose because I delegated. I should have dealt with the threat myself from the start.”</p><p>“Then allow me to accompany you.”</p><p>“You are needed in Polis.”</p><p>“But <em>heda</em>—”</p><p>“—<em>em pleni</em>. You are the only one who can deal with the ambassadors in my absence. And I need you to remain with the <em>natblidas</em>, to train them and prepare them should anything happen.”</p><p>“You are still punishing me. You still don’t trust me.”</p><p>“Can you blame me? You used the Elders in an attempt to control me.”</p><p>“I was trying to protect you, <em>heda</em>. As I am doing now. You don’t understand your own importance, you never have. Someone should place your wellbeing above all else, because you certainly don’t do it.”</p><p>“My wellbeing, Titus, or <em>heda’s?</em>”  </p><p>“You <em>are </em><em>heda</em>,” Titus answers, looking vaguely confused by her question. And that, despite everything hinting at it before, despite all the signs, it is at <em>that </em>moment Lexa finally understands: For Titus, Lexa is a nonentity. For him, she can never exist. Each action, each lesson, each piece of advice…it is all for systematically destroying every last trace of the girl known as <em>Leksa</em>.</p><p>(Costia had seen it, hadn’t she?)</p><p>(Lexa’s heart stutters as she thinks of the press of Costia’s fingertips, the forgotten warmth of her kisses. When was the last time she had even thought of her as she once had—a glowing symbol of possibility rather than the ghostly reminder of everything she has since learned to avoid? <em>Leksa </em>died along with Costia, but she finds herself trying to recall what that part of her felt like.)</p><p>(She cannot remember, and that scares her.)</p><p>(She knows—or rather, she knows <em>now</em>—that this rift between <em>Leksa </em>and <em>heda </em>has always existed. It is not only that Titus cannot see her as anything but <em>heda </em>and Costia had only been able to love <em>Leksa</em>, but it is the fact that Gustus sometimes can see nothing but the girl she had once been, that Rox could never accept that she could not remain his sister forever, and that even Anya—Anya, who has been burned alive by the Sky People, <em>Anya, </em>who could hear all that Lexa could never say, Anya, her sister in all but blood who was gone and leaving her unable to <em>feel </em>the loss—was always bouncing between <em>heda </em>and <em>Leksa</em>.)</p><p>(<em>But Titus had done his job, </em>she thinks as she feels that empty hole in her chest where Anya once resided. <em>Leksa </em>was dead…otherwise the pain would have been unbearable.)</p><p>“You’re going because of Anya, aren’t you?” Titus asks, pulling Lexa out of her thoughts. “Your sentimentality will be your ruin, <em>heda</em>.” He pauses briefly, his eyes growing hard while Lexa’s bones ache, weary of being so hard. “Anya understood duty. Do you?”</p><p>“You’re to remain in Polis.” Titus clenches his jaw and storms out of her chambers. A second later, Wennin enters, looking disgruntled.</p><p>“He said something about getting Gustus to change your mind, <em>heda</em>. Shall I go warn him?”</p><p>“No, Gustus knows better than to listen to Titus. But there’s something else you can do for me, Wennin.”</p><p>“Of course, <em>heda</em>. Anything.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She leaves Polis for Tondc with Gustus and a dozen of her Guard in the middle of the night.</p><p>She leaves Polis for Tondc, only bothering to say goodbye to her seven Nightbloods, all of whom—like she once did with Isolde—make her promise that she will not leave them for some time yet.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>People mumble and incline their heads as she walks by, barely passing a glance at the grate near her feet, at the two people she knows are imprisoned beneath her. Gustus’s hand does not stray far from the hilt of his sword, looking uneasy as he leads her into a tent where one of her <em>gona</em>waits.</p><p>(He is the one who led the man called <em>Kane</em>to their village, possibly the only person who has had extended contact with these <em>Sky People</em>.)  </p><p>When the <em>gona</em>—a tall, lean man named Devin—notices her enter the tent, his shoulder sag and the proud, smug look on his face fades immediately. <em>“Heda</em>,” he says, inclining his head respectfully, hands clasped in front of him.</p><p>“Speak,” she orders, and relief crosses over Devin’s face. (And that is when she knows that things are destabilizing at a rapid rate, that this is quickly turning into a situation even she will not be able to control.)</p><p>“They blazed across the sky, <em>heda</em>,” Devin mutters, swallowing hard. “The ground shook when they crashed, trees and lands burned to ash. And—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, his hands trembling just slightly. “There are hundreds of them. They barge through the forest as if they own it. They killed Tristan. <em>Heda, </em>they speak like the Mountain Men. They bear weapons like the Mountain Men. And they claim we have taken their children.”</p><p>“Claim?”</p><p>“There is no sign of the ones who have gone missing. But Indra is sure it is the <em>Maunon</em>.”</p><p>“Where is Indra?” Lexa asks Gustus, who stands behind Devin with his arms crossed over his chest.</p><p>“Some <em>gona </em>were captured by <em>ripas</em>. Indra and a few others pursued them.” Before Lexa can open her mouth to ask her next question—before she can even begin formulating a plan for how to deal with these invaders—a warrior she does not recognize bursts into the tent, her chest heaving.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>, the Sky People,” she says in between her gasping, “they have sent an assassin into Tondc. Eighteen innocents are dead.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“They are dangerous, <em>heda</em>,” Gustus mumbles as he watches her strip off the shoulder guard, her armor, her weapons. He frowns when she rubs dirt into her arms and face, when she wraps a piece of cloth over her head, hiding her intricate braids. “These <em>Sky People</em>,” he says the words distastefully, “have no honor. Even Nia knew better than to involve innocents in her wars.”</p><p>“Nia killed Costia.”</p><p>“And Costia was a warrior who knew and accepted the risks. Did the elderly of Tondc? The children?”</p><p>“I need to speak with them, I need to know what they are. How can we defeat an enemy we do not understand?”</p><p>“Why the subterfuge? Give me some time with these <em>men</em>,” he hisses the word out, clearly not considering them worthy of the word. “They will speak.”</p><p>“They will tell you what you want to hear. I want to know who they truly are.” She tugs out her knife, the one she has become so fond of, and she hands it to Gustus. “Be convincing, Gustus.”</p><p>“You’re taking bandages with you.”</p><p>“Devin seemed to think highly of the man called Marcus. I want to be prepared, just in case.”</p><p>“You’re not going to kill them, are you?”</p><p>“Oh, no. They will be far more valuable to me as a message.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>When she sent Tristan to relieve Anya (<em>Anya, </em>her sister, her friend, her mentor, and Lexa waits for reality to set in, waits to once again feel the pain Isolde and <em>Anya </em>promised would pass), she sent him to kill all the Sky People.</p><p>(They had declared war on her people, they had burned down villages, they had invaded her lands.)</p><p>(But all that…all that is normal for her. It is normal for her people, though she wishes it were not. They are used to war and invasions and burning villages—for some, it is all they have ever known, peace being the more foreign option. But the murder of innocents? That is different, that is unforgivable, that <em>demands </em>justice.)</p><p>(Even had she been willing to hear these Sky People out before, despite her own personal loss at their hands, now she only has one option. Through their barbarism and savagery, they have lost their only chance at peace.)</p><p>When she walks—or rather, limps—into the cell, her eyes on the ground, her ears on the two Sky People, she thinks that she will kill all the Sky People with her own hands…she swears she will make them bleed for the blood they have shed.</p><p>Thus, no one is more surprised than she when she realizes she feels a certain…kinship…with the man named Marcus.</p><p>(He sounds sincere when he claims he did not order the massacre.)</p><p>(He seems determined and passionate when he speaks of peace and change.)</p><p>(He looks broken and haunted by the things he has done for his people—the choices he made that he obviously regrets.)</p><p>And when Marcus slits his own wrist, Lexa realizes Devin was not wrong about this Sky Person.</p><p>(She sees something in him that she recognizes. Perhaps selflessness. Perhaps the same sense of duty that she has had drilled into her mind since she was a child. Perhaps optimism that the future could be better.)</p><p>But Thelonious…he is exactly what she expected the Sky People to be: arrogant, foolhardy, and entitled. So when he grabs her and presses her own knife to her throat, she decides he will be <em>perfect </em>as a message.</p><p>Gustus and her Guards—who had been watching discreetly from the grate above—rush in the second they see their <em>heda </em>trapped in the man’s hold, but Lexa’s lips twist into a snarl.</p><p>“This one is mine,” she hisses, slamming one hand into his face, twisting his arm when he pulls away from her, then sweeps his legs out from under him, pressing her knee into his chest, her knife once more in her own hand, its blade against his throat.</p><p>The transformation is instantaneous. She goes from wounded and scared girl playing with a leaf to the Commander of the Twelve Clans, <em>heda kom kongeda</em>. Gustus immediately places her guard over her shoulder, and she buckles it on, staring impassively at the two Sky People.</p><p>(She watches as her men beat Thelonious, does not dare look away. And then, when he is dragged before her feet, she tilts his head up with her index finger, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Tell your people to leave my lands. If they do not, I will kill them all. Do you understand me?” She waits until he mutters something unintelligible and nods, before she turns to Marcus. “And now you and I will speak.”)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“For now, peace is tentative and new, held together by the threat of a common enemy,” Lexa explains, ignoring Gustus’s barely audible huff from next to her. “But the Coalition means trade—not only of resources that the separate clans need, but of ideas and innovations. Of culture.” She looks at Marcus with a barely concealed frown. “So you can understand my misgivings about your people. You threaten an already precarious situation. I will not hesitate to eliminate threats to my people’s happiness.”</p><p>“But we’re not threats, Commander,” Marcus says bracingly. This time, Gustus’s snort is obvious. “We can co-exist peacefully—”</p><p>“Your people killed hundreds of my warriors. You destroyed my villages. One of your own massacred eighteen innocents. These offences cannot be ignored.”</p><p>“Then let us pay for them in other ways. Let us make amends. But surely war is not—”</p><p>“I offered to talk with you, Marcus of the Sky People. But that did not mean I offered time for negotiations.”</p><p>“Let me speak with my people. Give me time to figure out what happened. Just…give us an opportunity to make things right.” He is desperate, he is begging, and Lexa is unmoved.</p><p>(<em>Eighteen innocents</em>, she thinks to herself. <em>Eighteen elderly and children—eighteen who were not warriors</em>. There can be no room for mercy…not for the murderer, but perhaps for the others…?)</p><p>“You may leave, Marcus of the Sky People. But I cannot guarantee you more time. If you wish to come up with a way to appease my people, I suggest you think quickly.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She looks over at the place called Camp Jaha with a clenched jaw, staring at the metal monstrosity embedded into the earth. It both terrifies and infuriates her, and her fingernails dig into her palms. Gustus, as firm and solid and consistent as ever, stands next to her, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks at her rather than the affront to her rule, filled with the supercilious people from the sky. </p><p>“Will you give them the chance they asked for?” he asks after a long silence, merely watching her. She swallows hard.</p><p>“They took Anya from me.” The words slip out of her lips without her consent, and she closes her eyes, hating that she has admitted her weakness aloud. (<em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>…she knows that. And now, at the very thought of Anya, she remembers why.)</p><p>“She died honorably. Fighting for you.” (And that is the worst part, she thinks. Anya died <em>for her</em>. Because <em>she </em>sent Anya to Tondc, because she told Anya to kill the <em>Skaikru </em>if they stepped one toe out of line. Anya is dead, and it is <em>her</em>fault—just like it always is her fault.)</p><p>“We could use them, Gustus. You know this.”</p><p>“They are cowards, they have no honor. An alliance with them would be like making an alliance with the Mountain Men.”</p><p>“They know what it means to make difficult decisions. They understand survival.”</p><p>“You’ve clearly already made up your mind to allow them a chance. Why still worry?”</p><p>“I—” But she never gets to explain why the Sky People make her so uneasy. Just as she figures out what words to use, there is shouting from behind them, yells of ‘<em>heda, heda!</em>’ coming from the far side of camp, and when Lexa and Gustus rush over, her heart nearly slams to a stop.</p><p>Because standing there, leaning against Indra and smirking, a bloody bandage wrapped around her shoulder, is Anya.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“They told me you were dead,” she says, eyes on the ground, unable to look at her sister in all but blood, knowing she would not be able to hide the worry and terror and utter relief that would show on her face should she make eye contact. She cannot look up because she knows how difficult it would be to refrain from sinking to the floor in relief, from pulling Anya in to an embrace. “I believed you were dead.” (She thinks of Anya kneeling in front of her, telling her it was all right to cry for the Commander. She thinks of long afternoons training, of nights eating with the other warriors, laughing at stories Reed would invent. She thinks of the woman who supported her when she was lost, who stayed even when Rox left, even when Lexa lashed out and pushed away the ones around her.)</p><p>“It would take more than a ring of fire and measly Mountain Men to kill me, <em>heda</em>,” Anya says, her words belied by the blood streaked on her clothes and skin, the mud-caked hair and hands. And Lexa, she wants to laugh. “You want to kill the Sky People.” It is stated as a fact, not as a question, and Lexa finally looks up, mirth dissipating, missing her mentor terribly and bristling at the familiarity Anya allows into her voice.</p><p>“I’m doing what you failed to do,” she snaps, playing with her knife nervously (the calm confidence she normally exudes is all but absent when she faces someone who has seen her break apart and cry, someone who knows every single one of Lexa’s highs and lows). “Blood must have blood, Anya, and there is the price of eighteen innocents to pay.” Anya opens her mouth, to argue or apologize, Lexa does not quite know, only to promptly close it again when Lexa glares at her. “Tris?” she asks unnecessarily. (Because she already knows, she can tell from the way Anya’s eyes flit over hers, the way she carefully avoids speaking of her second.)</p><p>“Her fight is over, <em>heda</em>,” Anya murmurs, and though Lexa had claimed Tris was not her sister, though she had thought she convinced herself of that fact, her eyes flutter shut as she feels a wave of sorrow ripple through her.</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>, I tried. I even brought Clarke—”</p><p>“Who?” she interrupts, not wanting to hear about Tris’s death (<em>not her sister, not her sister</em>, except that she <em>was</em>, she was, and Lexa can still hear her laughter after her hunt, can still see her being carried in her mother’s arms, a smile on both their faces).</p><p>(She wonders if Rox will ever forgive her. She wonders how many more dead loved ones she will be forced to carry on her back.)</p><p>“She is the leader of the Sky People,” Anya explains, and Lexa forcibly pushes away the thoughts of Tris.</p><p>“Does Marcus know this?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“He claims <em>he </em>is the leader of the Sky People.”</p><p>“Then he has not met Clarke,” Anya says, raising an eyebrow. “You once told me you knew Aden was special because he seemed brighter. Different. Clarke may not be a <em>natblida</em>, but she is special.”</p><p>“She has made quite an impression on you.”</p><p>“She is a <em>branwada</em>. She talks too much and she is frustratingly idealistic.” (<em>Much like you</em>, Anya does not say, and for once, Lexa hears her anyway.)  “But she is strong,” she grins, as if thinking of a fond memory, “and she can help us end the Mountain Men. <em>Heda</em>, they have our people in cages, like <em>animals</em>, bleeding them dry.”</p><p>Lexa opens her mouth—not quite knowing what she wants to say in light of this new information—when the tent’s flap opens and Gustus strides in, looking terribly unimpressed.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>,” he grunts, “a Sky Girl is approaching.”</p><p>“It must be Clarke,” Anya says, her eyes glinting. “She wants to discuss the Mountain Men. Her people are trapped as well.”</p><p>“Or perhaps she has heard about <em>heda’s </em>ultimatum and she has come to beg for mercy, to make an offer <em>heda </em>can accept and save her people.”</p><p>“Either way,” Anya says, glaring at Gustus, “it couldn’t hurt to merely hear her out. I promise you, <em>heda</em>. We can trust Clarke.”</p><p>“Trust her? Isn’t she the one who burned my warriors alive? The one responsible for Tris’s death?” That makes Anya’s mouth snap shut, and Gustus looks pleased by Lexa’s immediate disavowal of this Clarke. “I want Indra here. I’ll meet with this Sky Girl, but that is all I can promise you, Anya.”</p><p>“A meeting is all I ask for, <em>heda</em>.” She grins, looking like she knows something no one else does. “I don’t need to convince you of anything. Clarke of the Sky People will do that for me.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She has blonde hair and blue eyes, and for the first time in over a year, Lexa thinks her breathing comes a little more easily.</p><p>(She<em>is</em>special, she knows that just by looking at the Sky Girl. It is not just the rare light hair or the tilt of her chin. It is the way she stands, the way her eyes never waver from Lexa’s—the way she seems hard and tired and vulnerable and determined all at once.)</p><p>(Lexa now understands why Anya called Clarke the leader of the Sky People. She is a leader—had she been born among Lexa’s people, Lexa could even imagine her as a <em>natblida</em>.)</p><p>“You’re the one who burned three hundred of my warriors alive.”</p><p>“You’re the one who sent them there to kill us,” Clarke answers right back, and had she been any other person, had it been any other time, Lexa thinks she may have smiled. There is strength of spirit in this girl, that much is clear. “You don’t need to do this. We can work together to defeat the people in Mount Weather,” she continues, stressing her words.</p><p>“I have twelve clans that stand behind me, Clarke of the Sky People. We can defeat the Mountain Men and free my people on our own.”</p><p>“You’ve had a hundred years to defeat them, and you haven’t been able to.” Indra growls, but Lexa keeps her silent by holding up a hand.</p><p>“If you want to make an offer to save your people, make it. But don’t waste my time.”</p><p>“I can help you get into the Mountain—”</p><p>“Unfortunately, Clarke,” Anya interrupts, her head tilted to the side, “we don’t need you for that. They have me.” Clarke looks betrayed, her lips curling into something between a frown and a sneer, and Anya merely smirks, crossing her arms over her chest smugly, eyebrows raised as if daring Clarke to say something. Clarke’s eyes flash, and Lexa watches, rather impressed, as she quickly changes tactics.</p><p>“My people have technology that can help. Explosives and medicine—”</p><p>“You’ve yet to make an offer that interests me,” Lexa interrupts, twirling her knife—the reminder of who she is—between her fingers. From her right, she can hear the soft chuckle that escapes Anya, and she resists the urge to turn and glare at her former mentor.</p><p>“We can help the Reapers,” Clarke says, now sounding just a little desperate.</p><p>“Lies,” Indra snarls, and Lexa nearly closes her eyes, knowing how sensitive the woman is when it comes to Reapers. Not many have lost as much to the Mountain Men as Indra. “<em>Ripas </em>cannot be turned back into men.”</p><p>“But they <em>can</em>, at least, we can,” Clarke says quickly, seeing her opening, latching onto it like a predator to its prey. “We can keep them alive long enough for the drug to pass through their system. We can help your people survive the withdrawal.”</p><p>“She<em>lies</em>, <em>heda</em>! It’s not possible—”</p><p>“It is, we’ve done it before, with Lincoln.” Before Indra can argue or dispute the claim, Lexa holds up her hand again, allowing the whispered ‘<em>natrona</em>’ that escapes Indra’s lips in reference to Lincoln. (Not for the first time, she sighs at the ill will between Indra and the man she practically raised.)</p><p>“You say you can turn Reapers back into men,” she says as she stands, stepping over to Clarke, impressed when Clarke does not back down (she is special, Anya is right). “Then prove it.” She nods shakily, as if she cannot believe her offer has been heard and accepted, and Lexa knows the others—except perhaps for Anya—feel the same way. It is after Gustus leads Clarke out of the tent and Indra stalks off, clearly needing to release some of her pent up anger, that Lexa turns to Anya, ignoring the smirk on her former mentor’s face. “I hope you’re right about her,” Lexa says, pressing her lips together. Anya snorts.</p><p>“You wouldn’t have given her a chance if you didn’t think I was right,” she says smugly. “But <em>heda</em>, I meant what I said. She talks entirely too much.” And Lexa, despite herself, despite all her efforts otherwise, finds herself ducking her head to hide the tiny smile that appears on her lips.</p><p>(And for the first time in over a year, she does not regret the brief surge of…peace…that warms her from the core.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Gustus’s warnings fall on deaf ears, and he knows it.</p><p>It does not, however, stop him from continuing to give the warnings. He tries talking her out of this newest alliance as they ride to what Clarke had called the ‘dropship’ (Lexa merely nods). He tries it again on the ride back, after Lincoln’s life is saved, citing the burned warriors, citing the Sky People’s readiness to fight (Lexa, however, cannot stop seeing the ashes of her warriors—men and women who fought and died because she asked them to, men and women who had families, who shared her vision for a better future—and she ignores him). He tries yet again after the Sky People seem willing to let everything fall apart for one murderous boy—one killer of innocents. (This is when Lexa is closest to giving in to Gustus. After all, how could she be in an alliance with a group of people who believed one life of theirs was worth more than eighteen of hers? How could she fight with them when they cared so little for her people’s blood, her people’s justice? She would not be worthy of her people if she gave into the <em>Skaikru’s </em>cries for sparing the boy. She killed Glen for less, she killed Frieda for less. What made the Sky People’s lives or beliefs anymore valid or right?)</p><p>She knows what she is doing is right, yet when she notices Clarke walk up to Indra—watches as the tip of the spear breaks skin, draws blood—she finds that there is a wild moment that she would give anything to keep this girl from witnessing the death of someone she loves. But the moment passes quickly, and she remembers: She is <em>heda</em>. She belongs to her people.</p><p>“Let her pass,” she calls, letting Clarke come closer. “You bleed for nothing. You cannot stop this.”</p><p>“No, only you can,” Clarke says, her blue eyes shining in the darkness, something about the pain twisted on her face sending a pang throughout Lexa’s body. (She hurts with this Sky Girl. She does not wish to inflict pain, not when she knows how much leaders suffer.) The rumblings of her people brings Lexa back: Did the boy think of the pain he inflicted when he killed eighteen of her people? Did he realize he had torn apart families? Had stolen fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters? Had taken the innocent from this world, those who had suffered much during her war, those who had just begun to have hope for a future? Why should she care for this Sky Girl’s pain when she clearly did not care for the pain of Lexa’s people? “Show my people how powerful you are. Show them you can be merciful. Show them you’re not a savage.” It is a tactic. Of course it is. Lexa has known this girl for a short time, yet it seems like eons. For Clarke is a leader, her power coming from words, attempting to manipulate those around her into doing as she asks. (But Lexa too is a leader, and she is far better at it.)</p><p>“We are what we are,” she says, not falling for the obvious ploy, not letting Clarke play on her ego, on her emotions. (They are both leaders, but Lexa was born for this, trained for this, and she is not so easily swayed.)</p><p>“Then I’m a killer,” Clarke says, and this is different. This is not a ploy, not a tactic. This is Lexa arguing for Glen’s life—recognizing on some basic level that her life was not worth more than his. This is giving up her own chance at justice to bring her people peace. This is selflessness, and Lexa realizes she has underestimated Clarke. She is not merely a leader—she is an anomaly. (She is special.) “I burned three hundred of your people. I slit a man’s throat and watched him die. I’m soaked in Grounder blood. Take me.” The plea, much like Gustus’s warnings, falls on deaf ears.</p><p>“But Finn is guilty.”</p><p>“No!” Clarke says, her voice beginning to break, no longer even attempting to hide the desperation she feels. “He did it for me.” There is a short pause, and all of Clarke’s masks and pretenses fall. She is a girl, not a leader, a child in that moment. “He did it for me,” she repeats, her lips twisting around the words, pain etched into her face. She shows every inch of what she is feeling, every ounce of pain, of desperation, of unadulterated grief, and Lexa understands. Lexa knows what Clarke feels—has felt it all before—so though her words are harsh (they must be harsh, she is <em>heda</em>), her tone is soft.</p><p>“Then he dies for you.” Clarke looks down, determination replacing all the feelings from before, and there is a moment—short and fateful—that Lexa is sure Clarke will attempt to attack her. While not the logical choice, she can understand it, understand the desire to do whatever is in your power to save a loved one. She understands, and she waits. Waits to see what Clarke will do. Clarke turns slowly back to her, and Lexa suddenly recognizes something else in Clarke’s cold, blue eyes: Acceptance. (And that, that is all the confirmation Lexa needs to know she was not wrong about Clarke of the Sky People—because she is strong, unyielding and unbending in the wake of an impossible choice.)  </p><p>“Can I say goodbye?” She knows this is not their way. She knows, instinctively, she should not allow this, but she thinks of Tris (and <em>Costia</em>), of all those she has lost and how she would give anything for a chance to say goodbye, and she nods, watching as Clarke runs to the murderer, watching as she kisses him, watching as she sheds pointless tears for him, watching as she moves back, her front and hands stained with blood, the boy’s head falling to his chest. (Lexa tries not to see Glen, tries not to remember how Isolde’s warpaint looked, how her hands had shook, how Glen’s eyes closed before she ran him through, how the air was filled with the scent of blood—how she has smelled of blood since that day. She tries, but she is unsuccessful, for it is all she sees.) She stares, thinking she should have seen this coming (for Clarke is selfless, she is strong, offering her life, risking her life, sparing the boy pain yet giving Lexa’s people what they wanted: his death), and it is only when her warriors begin to charge that she finally speaks up.</p><p>“It is done,” she orders, turning back to stare at Clarke’s bloodstained hands, but more importantly, at her tearstained cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“She shows contempt for our laws!” Indra says, her voice harsh. Lexa’s eyes stray towards the tent they threw the Sky Girl in, kept under guard until a decision about her actions is made. “She stole our justice.”</p><p>“The boy is dead,” Gustus says, forcing Lexa to turn to him, “but his death had no cost. Those eighteen lives he stole have not been paid.” She can hear the mumblings of her warriors, hear whispers—“This is the <em>heda </em>who gave up her own justice for peace. She would do it again”—but she pays it no mind. Anya, freshly clean, a new bandage wrapped around her shoulder (a gunshot wound she had tried to hide from Lexa, fearing that it would influence her decision to trust the Sky People), merely looks on, a frown on her face.</p><p>“His death has a cost,” Lexa says, her eyes back on the tent. “Tell them I will speak to them.” Gustus looks like he wishes to argue, but he merely nods and does as she asks. Indra, however, has no such reservations.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>, you cannot allow this to stand.”</p><p>“Trust me, Indra,” she says, shaking her head. “Your people will get their justice.” Without waiting for a response, she walks into the tent, head held high, watching Clarke closely—watching the mask she puts up, watching as she hardens herself as Lexa has done a million times before.</p><p>She sits at her chair, eyes on Clarke, and speaks. “Blood has answered blood. Some on my side say that’s not enough. They wanted the murderer to suffer as our tradition demands.” She stresses the word tradition, feeling a prickling of anger at Clarke’s earlier use of <em>savage</em>. Who is the true savage, she wishes to ask, the one who killed eighteen innocents or the one who demands punishment? “But,” she continues, “they do not know that your suffering will be worse. What you did tonight will haunt you until the end of your days.” She can tell, from the look on the woman’s face, on Marcus’s face, that this comment sounds cruel. But it is the truth—she speaks from experience. After all, what had Isolde once said? She is the rain because she is haunted by her actions—will always be haunted—and that is her burden to bear. “Still, there will be restitution. The body will be given to the people of Tondc, murderer and murdered joined by fire. Only then can we have peace.” It is a demand, it is an order, it is non-negotiable, yet the only one who seems aware of this is Clarke. As Marcus and the woman argue with Indra, Clarke merely looks down, her eyes vacant and lost.</p><p>“We’ll do it,” she says, interrupting Indra without looking at her. “But when it’s over,” she continues, her voice thick, her eyes still vacant, “we talk about how to get our people out of Mount Weather. All of our people.”</p><p>“We want the same things, Clarke.” She does not know why she says it, why she feels the need to reassure the Sky Girl, but she thinks it has something to do with the vacant, lost gaze. She thinks it has to do with how she once again feels the pain Clarke is feeling. (It is <em>inconvenient</em>, the softness she is beginning to feel in regards to Clarke. She hates that she can see the same confusion and inconsistency in Clarke’s eyes that she sees in her own. And she has no idea how to even approach the knowledge that Clarke fights her own internal demons, too.)  </p><p>“Good. When do we leave?” Lexa pushes back her feelings, pushes back the sudden sympathy, and regains her cold, harsh mask.</p><p>“Now,” she says, getting to her feet. “Choose your attendants.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She turns her head only once to stare at the Sky Girl, confused about the feelings that erupt in her chest and the heat that spreads on her cheeks when she notices Clarke is walking with a tall young man with floppy hair and a permanent frown etched onto his features.</p><p>Gustus is looking at her knowingly when she straightens in her saddle, and she avoids his gaze by forcing her eyes to rove the forest around them (for she is <em>heda </em>and she has learned that <em>heda </em>is always at war).</p><p>“You have something to say, obviously,” she tells him, raising an eyebrow when she finally meets his eyes.</p><p>“I don’t like this, <em>heda</em>.”</p><p>“Stop worrying,” she says, marveling at how much it sounds like an order. “Like you’ve always told me, all alliances are risky.” Gustus huffs, clearly not finding her comment amusing.</p><p>“This is not the same as uniting the twelve Clans,” he says, eyes focused on the front of their party, consisting mostly of Indra and other very suspicious and skeptical <em>gona</em>. “These Sky People are different. They are more like the Mountain Men than us. It could kill our Coalition.”</p><p>“Our Coalition, or me?” she asks dryly, posing a similar question to Gustus as she did to Titus. Except, unlike Titus who gave her an answer she expected, Gustus takes her by surprise.</p><p>“<em>Yu sou laik kongeda-de, heda</em>,” he says, simply and strongly. <em>You are the Coalition</em>, he tells her, and Lexa feels the same warmth she had felt when she was alone in the tent with Anya.</p><p>(She had forgotten what affection had felt like. She had forgotten what it meant to be cared for. And before it can get out of hand, before she allows this <em>weakness </em>to run rampant, she locks it back away.)</p><p>“Then do your job and protect me,” she says, tone hard and free of the emotion that had lodged its way somewhere in her throat. She is just about to say more when Anya throws up a hand, signaling that they have reached a suitable campsite.</p><p>She watches in amusement as the Sky People set up their camp on the other side of Lexa’s own people, the adults struggling to even make a simple fire while the straggly-haired boy (Lexa has recently learned his name is Bellamy, and she somehow dislikes him on principle) and Clarke watch uncomfortably. After a long minute, Lincoln finally takes pity on the older Sky People, shoots Clarke a look (as if they are friends, as if he understands what she is doing by not offering aid), and then bends down to help.</p><p>In fact, Lexa’s amusement merely grows when the boy—Bellamy—grabs Clarke by the arm and urges her to sleep on <em>their</em>side.</p><p>(Her amusement disappears and is replaced by a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach when Clarke shrugs him off and says, in no uncertain terms, that there are no sides.)</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>, Indra wishes to speak with you,” Anya says, raising her eyebrows but not commenting on the subject of Lexa’s attention. Her look is too knowing for Lexa’s liking, so she turns immediately, heading in the direction she knows Gustus and Indra are in, standing huddled together, whispering to each other. She is terribly unsurprised when Indra falls silent the moment she approaches, her frown so prominent that Lexa briefly worries it will stick.</p><p>“This is a mistake, <em>heda</em>,” Indra growls, crossing her arms over her chest. “These Sky People don’t deserve this alliance. They don’t deserve your mercy. Please, <em>please</em>, let us kill them and be done with it.”</p><p>“They held up their end of the bargain. Lincoln is alive. So we will do the honorable thing and uphold our end.” She thinks her tone leaves no room for argument, but she underestimates just how long she and Indra have been separated—just how deep Indra has been wounded by the Sky People—because rather than back down, Indra seems even more determined to speak up.</p><p>“Lincoln is a <em>natrona</em>, allying himself with those…<em>people</em>.” She looks over at Gustus, who nods his agreement. “They have no honor, so why should we treat them with any?”</p><p>“Because I am your <em>heda </em>and I have told you to,” Lexa hisses, stepping forward. “Do you doubt me? Are you going to disobey my orders?”</p><p>“Of course not, Commander,” Indra mutters. She looks down and away, her defensive posture finally breaking. “But these Sky People…they are not worthy.”</p><p>“I don’t need them to be worthy. I just need their help to save our people from the Mountain Men.” Anya grins from her right, and though Gustus and Indra continue to look wary—at and worst, a tad rebellious—they both nod in acceptance.</p><p>(And later, as she walks towards her own tent, she cannot help but look over to where she knows Clarke is laying, determinedly placing herself between Lexa’s people and her own. And for a moment—a childish and silly moment—Lexa wonders who is truly the better leader.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She dreams of Costia.</p><p>In and of itself, it is not a strange thing. She has dreamt of Costia often since Nia killed her. What is strange is that for the first time, Costia does not haunt her dreams. (She does not blame Lexa for her death, she does not curse Lexa’s name nor regret ever meeting her. She does not rage and hate and glare, becoming an entirely different person in death than she had been in life.)</p><p>Costia does not haunt her—for the first time, Lexa dreams of her fondly.</p><p>She sees her sitting in the Commander’s garden, the two of them children once more, staring up at the sky and laughing at something Costia has just said.</p><p>(And Lexa’s heart beats just as fast as it had the day Costia first took her hands in her own, squeezing tightly and offering a smile.)</p><p>(And Lexa feels just as safe as she did the day Costia pressed their foreheads together and claimed that she would always have her.)</p><p>(And Lexa feels none of the pain of loss when she listens to the now unfamiliar sound of Costia’s laughter. She feels the sorrow, she feels the emptiness thud in her chest as she realizes this is nothing but a dream, but it is not all-consuming and overwhelming.)</p><p>She sees Costia in the Commander’s garden, staring up at the sky and smiling wide, and all she knows is that she misses Costia—will <em>always </em>miss Costia—but it no longer feels as if she has been paralyzed from the pain of it.</p><p>And when she wakes up the next morning, her movements are lethargic and sad, but when she thinks of Isolde’s advice, she does not immediately wave it off.</p><p>
  <em>The pain will pass. You just need to give yourself time.</em>
</p><p>(And for the first time, Lexa allows herself to hope that Isolde is right.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She blames her sentimentality on the dream.</p><p>She watches impassively as the people of Tondc build the pyre, watches as her murdered people are arranged around the murderer (an old tradition, ensuring the murderer’s spirit would always be trapped by the spirits of those whose lives he had stolen, a sort of eternal punishment).</p><p>She watches as her people crowd around her and the pyre, and even as she speaks—as she acts as tradition demands—her eyes never stray too far from Clarke.</p><p>(She recognizes the look in Clarke’s eyes—that vacant, blank look speaking volumes about Clarke’s state of mind. Because she knows, just as she once blamed herself for Costia’s death, Clarke blames herself for Finn’s.)</p><p>She blames her sentimentality on the dream.</p><p>(She blames it on the fresh reminder of Costia and the faith she had in her—the steadfast belief that somehow Lexa was actually special, that she was capable of change and goodness, that she was more than just the <em>heda-</em>to-be.)</p><p>And so she blames her sentimentality on the dream, on Costia, and she ignores Indra’s offended look when she hands the torch to Clarke, giving her the honor of saying farewell to the fallen men and women. Ensuring her features remain impassive, Lexa watches as Clarke accepts the torch, hesitantly stepping forward, hand shaking almost imperceptibly. (Lexa blames her sentimentality on the dream, but the truth is, she does not need Costia’s reminder to know just how much pain Clarke is going through—just how much self-hate and self-blame is raging through her. After all, Lexa has experienced all this before.)</p><p>(She blames the fact that she allows Clarke to say those so important words—<em>Yu gonplei ste odon</em>—on the softness that the reminder of Costia drew out from her. But the truth is—a truth she can only admit to herself, in her heart of hearts—that she wishes, she so desperately wishes, that someone would have given her the same opportunity to say goodbye after she lost Costia.)</p><p>It is weakness, she thinks, avoiding Anya’s raised eyebrows and Gustus’s worried expression as the pyre burns away, as people begin shuffling off, leaving Lexa and Clarke alone. It is weakness to feel, to love, to care. But as she stares at Clarke’s hunched shoulders and her downcast eyes, she does not pity the other girl for her weakness—does not disparage her for it.</p><p>She feels…empathetic.</p><p>(She has been here, she has been here, she has been <em>here.</em>)</p><p>“I lost someone special to me too,” she says, swallowing hard. She knows what prompts this confession, she knows. But she refuses to dwell on it. “Her name was Costia.” (She still dreams of her often, but for the first time since her death, the pain is almost tolerable.) “She was captured by the Ice Nation whose Queen believed she knew my secrets.” The words come with difficulty now, and the mantra—<em>hodnes laik kwelnes</em>—flashes through her mind incessantly. She believes it, she knows it to be true, and yet…and yet. “Because she was mine, they tortured her, killed her, cut off her head.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Clarke says, but Lexa swallows hard, forging on.</p><p>“I thought I’d never get over the pain,” she says, “but I did.” (It is a lie, she knows that. But she also knows what Clarke is feeling right now, and the lie is preferable to the truth.)</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“By recognizing it for what it is,” she turns to Clarke, needing her to hear this. Needing her to understand. “Weakness.”</p><p>“What is? Love?” Lexa nods, looking away. “So you just stopped caring? About everyone?” Lexa nods again, not looking at Clarke. (<em>You are a liar</em>. <em>That is good.</em>) “I could never do that.”</p><p>“Then you put the people you care about in danger, and the pain will never go away.” It is a lie, it is all a lie. But it is a lie Clarke needs, if only to get through this moment. “The dead are gone, Clarke,” she says, meeting Clarke’s eyes. “The living are hungry.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>As things fall apart, she wonders if she should have seen this coming.</p><p>(The tide in battle is always changing—as <em>heda </em>she should have expected this, should have known better, should have kept her eyes open.)</p><p>(She should have paid more attention to what was before her eyes rather than focus on a past she could not change and a future she could not predict.)</p><p>“Gustus would never harm me,” she says, raising her chin, sure about nothing as much as she was sure about this one fact. Gustus—bearded, stern, treat-giving, Gustus—would <em>never </em>harm her.</p><p>“You weren’t the target,” the boy she does not like—Bellamy—says, his eyes on Gustus. “The alliance was.” She remembers Gustus’s words, remembers the uncomfortable similarity they had to Titus’s own comments, and she faces him with a blank expression, a hardened heart. (She has still not forgotten about Titus’s betrayal from so long ago. But surely, surely <em>Gustus </em>would not do the same.)</p><p>“You’ve been accused, Gustus,” she says, raising her chin even higher. “Speak true.”</p><p>“This alliance would cost you your life, <em>heda</em>,” he says, not looking sorry, not looking at all regretful. “I could not let that happen.” She stares at him, remembers the dried fruits in his pockets, the hand on her head, his soft words, his gentle guidance. She stares at him and her heart slams to a stop because he has brought this on himself.</p><p>(<em>You are </em>heda<em>, </em>Titus had said. <em>You are the Coalition</em>, Gustus had said. And yet, the two situations are entirely different. While Titus’s comment had only reaffirmed his belief that Lexa was nothing more than her title—a person needed to do a job—Gustus’s actions were intended to protect her. He wanted to protect <em>her</em>, and it has cost him everything.)</p><p>“This treachery will cost you yours,” she hisses, betrayed and infuriated and brokenhearted. He stares back at her, no indication of surprise or disappointment on his features, but she knows that when she orders him to be tied to the post, he is the only one besides a silent and stoic Anya who sees the pain pass over her face, who notices her clenched jaw, who knows that she is biting back her emotions.</p><p>(And Lexa watches as her people slice into her mentor, her protector, her friend, her father, and she cannot say a word, cannot show a reaction. She watches, and when it is her turn, she steps forward, not noticing that Indra looks away, that Anya’s eyes shut, that Clarke’s eyes are on her—she does not notice anyone or anything but Gustus. <em>She is twelve again</em>. Her people need her. <em>She sees Glen</em>. The Mountain must be defeated. <em>There is the scent of blood in the air—she thinks it comes from her own hands</em>. Her people need peace. <em>She is twelve again</em>. Her hands are shaking again, someone she loves is dying again<em>.</em>) </p><p>“<em>Ste yuj</em>,” he says, as if she will not be able to do this. Stay strong, he tells her, as if her strength will fail in this critical moment. But he knows—she can tell from his eyes, from the way his face falls—that she has done this before (that she will likely do this again), that her strength will not fail her now. He knows, yet he tells her to stay strong. Gustus, who has known her for so long, who is a father, a friend, a mentor, a protector, tells her to stay strong because he saw her fall apart after Glen. He saw her hobble on after Isolde. He saw her harden after Costia. And he has thought long and hard about the same thing that Lexa thinks now:</p><p>How many times? How many times can a person fall apart, break down, shatter and crumble, before it is impossible to put the pieces haphazardly back together? How many times can one be racked with sorrow and rattled by the pain of loss before there is no point in fighting on? How many times can your entire world shift and knock you off balance before the lines blur until you lose yourself entirely?</p><p>How many times, she wonders, can parts of her perish before no force, no power, no command can bring her back?</p><p>Gustus does not tell her to stay strong because he believes she will be unable to perform the act that will end his life (she is <em>heda</em>, he broke her laws—“The Sky People march with us now, she said, “anyone who tries to stop that will pay with their life”—he must die), but because he has watched her grow up, has seen the toll the very things she pretended did not affect her had on her. He worries not that she is not strong, but that she has reached her breaking point—that this is where it goes too far, that this is the moment Isolde so feared and so desired, the moment that she is pushed to her limit, and with the final shreds of Lexa dies <em>heda</em>.</p><p>He tells her to stay strong, and Lexa—with shaking hands, a hammering heart, the sword heavy, her entire world shifting yet again—nods almost imperceptibly. He tells her to stay strong, and Lexa answers, “<em>Yu gonplei ste odon.</em>”</p><p>(He did it for me, she thinks.)</p><p>(Then he dies for me, she realizes.)</p><p>She turns to look at Clarke when it is all over, wanting to show her that she does not care. Wanting to show her <em>heda’s</em>strength, <em>heda’s </em>power. But she fails. She knows she fails because Clarke’s eyes are full of understanding, her lips pressed in a thin line. She knows, hating that she does, that Clarke sees the truth (a truth that Lexa has run from since Glen, since Isolde, since Costia, a truth she only admits to herself now). Lexa and <em>heda</em>are one and the same:</p><p>They both bleed, they both suffer, they both care.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She stares at Lexa oddly when Lexa pushes away the hand-drawn maps and gets to her feet, announcing that she wants to spar, Anya rising with her, nodding enthusiastically.</p><p>“I don’t know if I’d put up much of a fight,” Clarke says, a frown on her lips, one eyebrow slightly raised. Lexa blinks, confused by the comment, then finds herself wanting to laugh.</p><p>“From what Anya has told me, that isn’t quite true.” She steps out of her tent, motioning for Clarke to follow her. “Besides, I think Anya would be offended if I sparred with anyone other than her.”</p><p>“Offended would be putting it lightly, <em>heda</em>,” Anya says cheerfully enough, quickening her pace and heading towards Ryder and a young woman who are sparring with wooden swords.</p><p>“But you both have shoulder injuries,” Clarke protests. “I mean, Anya was just shot. And you—”</p><p>“We’ve fought through worse,” Lexa interrupts. If anything, Lexa’s confidence just seems to confuse Clarke more.</p><p>“You know, in order to heal, you need to actually rest your arm. You banged up your shoulder pretty badly.”</p><p>“This is a war, Clarke. There’s no time for rest.” They reach Anya, who looks impatient, and Lexa accepts a wooden stave from Ryder. “Besides, it isn’t as if anything has changed since we last went over the plans. Well?” she prompts when Clarke merely stares blankly, watching as Lexa strips off her coat and rolls up the sleeves of her shirt.</p><p>“Well, no. Nothing yet.”</p><p>“Clarke—”</p><p>“Bellamy will come through. I’m sure of it.” She raises her head slightly, and Lexa recognizes the mannerism, knows what Clarke must feel, and so she merely nods, letting the topic go for now. She rolls her injured shoulder experimentally, suppressing her wince at the pain that flares. Clarke must notice something, however, because her eyes now rest on Lexa’s shoulder, her brows furrowed.</p><p>“Are you returning to your Camp?” Lexa asks, more to distract Clarke from questioning her about her shoulder again than from any real desire to know.</p><p>“Until we have news.”</p><p>“The meeting with the other Clan leaders is tomorrow, Clarke. Your presence will be required.” Clarke bites her lip, nodding, then reaches out hesitantly, using her eyes to indicate her intent. After a tense pause, Lexa nods gruffly, and she practically holds her breath as Clarke steps closer to her, as she inspects her shoulder and arm, checking for swelling, bruising, and inflammation (three things she has warned Lexa repeatedly to keep an eye out for, though Nyko had merely rolled his eyes, commenting on how the Sky Girl did not understand that a sprain was nothing to someone <em>kom Trigedakru</em>).</p><p>“How will you fight a war if you’re in pain?” Clarke asks, and Lexa thinks she had not meant to speak aloud, that the words came unbidden. Yet she responds anyway.</p><p>“You’re on the ground now, Clarke, not among the stars. We all fight through the pain.”</p><p>“I don’t know, Commander,” she says softly, pulling away. “That just sounds really sad to me.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Have you heard, <em>heda</em>? Indra has taken a second, and it is one of the <em>Skaikru</em>.” Anya snorts a little, shaking her head as she piles a plate with food, pushing it in front of Lexa without asking. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Indra actually <em>likes </em>the girl.” Her eyes narrow as she considers this. “But Indra doesn’t like anyone.”</p><p>“I’m not hungry, Anya.”</p><p>“You sparred for several hours this afternoon, and you’ve been skipping meals. I’m afraid you have no choice but to eat, <em>heda</em>. You need your strength.” Anya smirks, as if she knows something Lexa is not privy to, and Lexa’s carefully constructed mask breaks.</p><p>“So that’s how you want to do this? By pretending it never happened? By ignoring it?”</p><p>“You’ll have to be more specific, Commander.”</p><p>“Aren’t you going to lecture me, Anya?” Lexa gets to her feet, ignoring the food and approaching Anya instead, angry—just <em>so </em>angry and not really knowing where the emotion stems from. “Aren’t you going tell me I shouldn’t have killed him?”</p><p>“Commander—”</p><p>“Are you going to question me like him? Are you going to turn your back on me like he did?”</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>—”</p><p>“If you don’t agree with me, will you attempt to manipulate me as well?”</p><p>“Lexa, no.” Anya steps forward, reaching out briefly, as if she intends to touch Lexa before she thinks better of it. “What Gustus did…I will not defend his actions. But he believed he was doing his job, he believed he was protecting you.”</p><p>“He <em>betrayed </em>me.”</p><p>“Yes, he did,” Anya says softly, surprising Lexa. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss him. It doesn’t mean you can’t be sad about what happened.”</p><p>“I’m not sad, I’m angry,” Lexa shoots back, slamming her fist down on the table, knocking the plate of food to the ground. Without looking at her, Anya cleans up the mess, her movements only somewhat impaired by the gunshot wound to her shoulder. </p><p>(Lexa had not lied to Clarke before—she and Anya have both fought through far worse. And yet…and yet the knowledge of just how close she had come to losing not only Tris and Gustus but Anya as well is enough to make her hands shake.)</p><p>(Love is weakness, love is weakness, love is weakness.)</p><p>“There is no shame in love, <em>heda</em>,” Anya says, straightening. “And there is no shame in admitting someone has hurt you.”</p><p>“Love is weakness,” Lexa says, hands clenching and chin rising. It is easy—almost effortless—to bury the feelings that caused her outburst in the first place, and she knows (from Anya’s sigh) that her stoic mask is back in place.</p><p>“You’re a liar, Lexa,” Anya smiles sadly. “That’s good.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Azgeda </em>scum,” Indra scoffs, staring at the backs of the Ice Nation ambassadors, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “They hold their heads up high when they should cower in disgrace.”</p><p>“The Ice Nation is part of the Coalition, Indra,” Lexa says calmly, raising an eyebrow. “We are all one people now.”</p><p>“Queen Nia has no honor. You and I both know she is merely biding her time before she strikes at the Coalition.”</p><p>“And when she does, she will find herself faced with eleven enemies.” Indra merely snorts in response, not at all satisfied with the promise, and Lexa thinks of the way Indra had called for Nia’s death—had fought for Costia’s justice—and she allows the older woman her skepticism.</p><p>“Where is Anya, <em>heda</em>? I didn’t think she would pass up a chance to support the Sky Girl.”</p><p>“You mean your second?” Lexa asks, purposefully misunderstanding.</p><p>“No,” Indra says, a frown marring her face, though there is something like pride in her eyes. “I mean the blonde one, the <em>leader </em>of the Sky People.”</p><p>“Anya will remain in Camp Jaha as my representative for the time being. Especially since Clarke is needed here.”</p><p>“I don’t trust them, <em>heda</em>. Octavia and Clarke…they are different, they have a warrior’s spirit. But the rest of the Sky People are weak. Foolish.”</p><p>“Then it’s good they have you, isn’t it?” Lexa allows herself the smallest of smiles. “If Octavia and Clarke can learn our ways, the rest of the Sky People will follow.” Indra opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, the ambassador from the Plains Riders approaches them, a serious expression on her face.</p><p>“<em>Heda</em>,” she says, inclining her head low. “Trina has a message for you.” Her eyes flit over to Indra before refocusing on Lexa. “May we speak in private?”</p><p>“Speak freely. I trust Indra,” Lexa says, crossing her arms over her chest, confused by the way Indra seems to puff out at the comment—almost as if she is proud.</p><p>“Roan has left the Dead Zone, Commander,” the ambassador says. “He has been seen around our borders. Trina wants to know what you want to do with him.”</p><p>“Kill the traitor,” Indra hisses. “You showed him mercy once, no more.”</p><p>“There must be a reason he’s come back,” Lexa says, silencing Indra with a raised hand. “Take your fastest horse and tell Trina to take him to Polis. Reed will take care of him until I return.”</p><p>“You don’t want the <em>fleimkepa—</em>”</p><p>“No. Leave Roan to Trina and Reed. I wouldn’t want to trouble Titus with such a silly matter.” The ambassador nods, looking utterly convinced by that explanation. She inclines her head once more before heading off, leaving Lexa alone with Indra.</p><p>(And unlike the ambassador, it is terribly obvious that Indra has spotted Lexa’s lie.)</p><p>“Perhaps if the rest of the Sky People are even half as strong as Octavia, they can be slightly useful,” Indra concedes, not commenting on Lexa’s decision or her lie about Titus. She lets out a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “They all do seem to share the same headstrong stubbornness.”</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Her first thought, after Clarke tells her about the missile, is to warn her people. (<em>Peace, a life without war</em>. <em>That is what I want to build</em>.) Her first thought is to protect.</p><p>Her second thought is that should she warn them, all would be lost.</p><p>The Mountain Men—who had missiles that created craters you could not see across, who turned her warriors into Reapers<em>, </em>who had slaughtered her people long before she was even born, who have posed a great threat for as long as anyone can remember—needed to be stopped. She knows this, has promised this, must do this. (<em>Peace, a life without war</em>. That could not happen as long as the Mountain stood. That could not happen without Bellamy on the inside, without him remaining undetected until the Mountain’s weaknesses could be determined.) It is not about the lives of the people in Tondc, she knows. Because their loss will be for a greater purpose, their loss would ensure peace and prosperity for future generations—would ensure the release of hundreds of her people trapped and bled dry within the Mountain. (<em>S</em><em>ometimes, to make the smart and strong choice, you must sacrifice what is good. </em>That is what Gustus told her so long ago. That is what she has been taught her entire life, the lesson drilled into her mind from the start: A few sacrificed for the many. Good sacrificed for what is the logical choice. Her bleeding heart bled dry like her people in the Mountain so that a child years from now would never know strife.)</p><p><em>Peace, a life without war. That is what I want to build</em>. So why does that feel so much like a lie in this moment?</p><p>(She thinks it is because she is willing to sacrifice everyone in Tondc—Indra, the other Clan leaders’ generals and advisors, seconds, warriors, innocents—but she is not willing to sacrifice Clarke. She is not willing to let her burn as well. (<em>Selfless</em>she has been called, <em>selfless</em>. Yet protecting Clarke, being unwilling to leave this blue-eyed girl behind, is selfish, is dangerous, is costly. But she does not care.)</p><p>(This is telling, but Lexa has no time to dwell on it. Because she must ensure she hardens Clarke’s heart before it breaks—“Victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says, parroting Gustus’s words, his own way of preparing her, hardening her, knowing from experience that her attempts to harden Clarke will be as unsuccessful as Gustus’s attempts to harden her. <em>I want the Mountain Men dead. All of them</em>. Experience is the hardest of teachers, the most painful of instructors.)</p><p>Lexa watches as Clarke suffers as she herself once suffered and still suffers. She knows that Clarke feels the pain that she herself has felt and still feels. But while Clarke sheds tears, while she is consumed with rage—at herself, at the Mountain, at Lexa—and desperation, Lexa falls back on old habits. She quells the feelings in her chest. She forces a look of indifference. She resorts to dry comments and she bears the pain without complaint because she has done this before; she will do this again.</p><p>Lexa watches, watches her village burn, watches Clarke snap, watches the chaos and unrest and harshness return with a blinding force. How does it feel, she wants to ask, how does it feel to witness your results of your hard decisions?</p><p>(She wants to ask, but she does not, because she knows that Clarke feels what she herself has felt and still feels: a desperation to give the burden that lies on their shoulders to someone else—anyone else—yet knowing the burden is for them and them alone.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She does not need Anya’s frowns to know that Clarke has been behaving…oddly…since the missile.</p><p>Clarke had refused to return to Camp Jaha, claiming that she was content with going over the plan and wait for Raven’s signal with the rest of the army. And yet…Lexa could see that Clarke had no desire to return to her people. Perhaps it was because of what her mother told her that night in the forest—perhaps it was the fact that killing the Mountain Man did nothing to quell Clarke’s anger and guilt. Perhaps, even, it was that Clarke truly meant it when she called Lincoln one of her own people.</p><p>(And if that last option is the one that gives Lexa chills, that brings a shudder to her spine, she chooses not to dwell too much on it.)</p><p>(How Clarke felt about Lincoln had no bearing on how she felt about anyone else. There is nothing to dwell on. <em>Really</em>.)</p><p>Yet, though Clarke could not return to her own people, she is sadly lost among Lexa’s. The warriors have a grudging respect for the blonde Sky Girl, seeing the same thing in Clarke that Lexa has (that she is special, that she is different), but they are awkward around her, not quite sure how to talk or act. Was she like their <em>heda</em>, a figure of spiritual and otherworldly significance? After all, the Commander conferred with her (the Commander had taken her side over Quint, too, that had to mean <em>something</em>).</p><p>(Or was Clarke more like Anya—merely a warrior, their equal?)</p><p>She does not quite belong among Lexa’s people, and so she wanders aimlessly, going over the plan again and again—fruitlessly worrying over things she cannot possibly predict or change. And much like Anya noticed that Lexa was not eating, Lexa notices that Clarke shrugs off meals with alarming frequency.</p><p>So two days after the missile hits Tondc, Lexa tells Clarke to join her for dinner.</p><p>Mostly, the entire experience is quiet and awkward, something Lexa has not experienced with anyone before. Clarke seems more concerned with staring at her still mostly full plate, and Lexa busies herself with one of the books she brought from Polis.</p><p>“Interesting read?” Clarke suddenly asks, breaking the silence almost forcefully.</p><p>“It was Costia’s favorite,” Lexa responds, fingering the yellowing pages before pushing the book towards Clarke. “Before I became <em>heda</em>, I would read to Costia when we had free afternoons.”</p><p>“You knew her for a long time.” It is stated, a known fact, and yet Lexa nods anyway, swallowing back the familiar surge of sorrow at the thought of Costia. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to say goodbye.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“The funeral pyres,” Clarke explains, her eyes on the book. “It’s hard to literally watch memories burn away.”</p><p>“Costia did not get funeral rites,” Lexa says after a long silence, pushing her plate away and sitting back in her chair.</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“We believe that the individual is made up of a spirit that is housed in the mind and the soul, which is contained within the heart. When we burn our dead, the flames free and fuse the spirit and soul, allowing us to be reborn.”</p><p>“But Costia…” Clarke trials off, seemingly unable to continue the thought, though Lexa knows she has caught on. And while it is obvious Clarke regrets this entire conversation, Lexa keeps speaking.</p><p>“It is the worst of crimes to separate the head from the body,” she says, clenching her hands into fists in order to hide the shaking. “You don’t only condemn the person to death—you ensure that their spirit and soul can never fuse, meaning they are never reborn.” She breathes in deep through her nose, blinking several times in quick succession to stave off the burning behind her eyes. “As funeral rites were out of the question, I honored Costia in my own way.” Clarke stares at her, looking like she wants to ask. But either Clarke has great self-control or she knows better than to think Lexa would talk, because she just nods.</p><p>“My people don’t say goodbye at all,” she says, her eyes falling to her still full plate. “It’s not that we don’t think death is permanent, because we do. It’s just…sometimes it’s easier to pretend we’ll meet again than it is to say goodbye.”</p><p>“Is that why you go over the plan so many times? Because you don’t want to say goodbye to your people?”</p><p>“No, because the last thing I said to my best friend was that I’d be back. I’m not letting Wells down a second time.” Lexa has no idea what Clarke is talking about, but she follows the other girl’s lead and does not ask. So instead she just motions towards Clarke’s plate.</p><p>“Then perhaps the best thing you can do for this Wells is to keep up your strength until we manage to free our people from the Mountain.”</p><p>Something like a smile appears on Clarke’s lips as she nods. And, unbelievably, she begins to eat.</p><p>(And much later, when Lexa urges Clarke to rest, Clarke does not put up much of a fight. And much later, as Clarke eases into Lexa’s pillows and blankets, her eyes fluttering shut, she asks a question Lexa has no idea how to answer: “How do you do it, Lexa?” she mumbles. “How do you always stay so strong?”)</p><p>(And it is much later, long after Clarke’s breath has evened out and soft snores erupt from her lips that Lexa finally manages to find an answer, her fingers folding and unfolding one of the stiff pages of Costia’s favorite book.)</p><p>(<em>Because I don’t think I could live through being weak a second time, </em>she thinks, and despite her thoughts—or perhaps because of them—she finds herself weak anyway.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Clarke rarely leaves her side.</p><p>She has no idea if it is something she asked for consciously or if Clarke could not bear to be alone—it is harder, she knows, to trudge on beneath that weight on your own—and merely gravitates towards Lexa because no one else understands, no one else could understand. She does not know why Clarke is always there, just to her right, working on plans, drawing more maps, studying their course of action obsessively. She does not know, and she does not care. (She wants Clarke as near to her as possible.)</p><p>It is because Clarke is always there, however, that Lexa learns that she refuses to eat until she is sure everyone has a meal first. It is because they walk around the camp together that Lexa learns that Clarke will stop and check on every warrior, no matter how mildly wounded, her own way of assuaging her guilt. It is because Clarke collapses from sheer exhaustion while staying up late working that Lexa learns she has nightmares, that when she wakes, she turns away from Lexa—as if ashamed—and goes back to planning and obsessing. (Lexa also notices how Clarke taps her fingers when feeling impatient, how she touches the watch on her wrist often and unconsciously, how she rolls her eyes when annoyed, how her voice changes cadence when angry, upset, scared…pained.)</p><p>But then there is Clarke’s inability to admit to Lexa that she is a true leader, there is Clarke’s inability to hear how Lexa’s tone changes—how it becomes regretful, harsher, even melancholic despite her best efforts to remain apathetic—when she says, “You were born for this. Just like me.” There is Clarke’s obvious affection for Bellamy and the boy named Wells. There is Clarke’s obvious affection for Octavia.</p><p>There is Clarke’s stubbornness, her refusal to see Octavia as the threat she is.</p><p>“It’s because I’m close to her that I know she’s loyal,” Clarke says, a hardness to her tone that Lexa appreciates. Clarke does not fear her. Clarke is not intimidated. Clarke does not stand down or flee (she is not one of her subjects, to give into her commands, and she is not like Rox, running away because it has become too hard to stay). “Her brother is more important to her than anyone. She would never endanger his life.”</p><p>“And you’re willing to risk everything on that? On your feelings?” She quirks an eyebrow, she stares Clarke down with a superior look, but Clarke’s eyes make Lexa want to shiver. There is steadfast belief in them—challenge in them—and Lexa cannot quite remember what she is arguing against. (Your feelings will always be used against you, she wants to cry. Feelings lead to pain, she wants to scream. But there is no doubt in her mind that Clarke already knows.)</p><p>“Yes.” The single word reverberates in Lexa’s mind, cracking her resolve. “You say having feelings makes me weak, but you’re weak for hiding from them.” The words hit Lexa like a punch to the gut, momentarily making it difficult to breathe. “I might be a hypocrite, Lexa, but you’re a liar.” She swallows, raises her chin, tries to remain impassive, but Clarke’s words are like knives, slicing through her protections, slicing through all the walls. (<em>You are a liar, that is good.</em>) “You felt something for Gustus,” Clarke continues, taking a step forward. And Lexa can do nothing but retreat. (She thinks of the treats he carried in his pocket, she thinks of his steadiness and reliability. She thinks of the comforting weight of his hand on the top of her head.) “You’re still haunted by Costia.” Clarke advances, and Lexa continues to back away. (She thinks of Costia’s smile, the freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks, the beautiful dark hair and the intelligent, passion-filled eyes. She thinks of Costia’s steadfast belief in progress and change, of her gentle kisses, her unflinching courage.) “You want everyone to think you’re above it all,” Clarke continues, words barely a hiss, expression unyielding, “but I see right through you.” Lexa hits the table, and her hands go to the edge, gripping it, trying to wrest back control, trying to repair her shields.</p><p>“Get out,” she bites out, her jaw clenched, her eyes on Clarke’s blue (blue eyes that hold unwavering certainty, hold absolute challenge, hold no fear).</p><p>“Two hundred fifty people died in that village,” Clarke says, unfazed by Lexa’s anger, Lexa’s clear struggle. “I know you felt for them,” she continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But you let them burn.” And Clarke finally breaks through the last of Lexa’s defenses, breaks through the last of her resolve, and something snaps—she breaks and admits the very thing she has not allowed herself to dwell on, the very thing that is so obvious to Anya (if the looks her former mentor has been giving her are any indication).</p><p>“Not everyone,” she says. “Not you.” For a moment, there is nothing but silence. Clarke’s eyes rove over her face, and Lexa can do nothing but stand before her, vulnerable, open, laying her heart bare. But then Clarke steps back, blue eyes determined once more.</p><p>“Well, if you care about me then…trust me. Octavia’s not a threat.” Another pause, this time on Lexa’s side, briefly mulling over this concept of ‘trust.’ (Because in her experience, nothing good came from trust. People had a way of letting you down, of never being worthy of the faith placed in them. Trust meant dependence, implied hope, and these are things Lexa has learned to live without.)</p><p>“I can’t do that,” she admits, swallowing. Something passes over Clarke’s face (something Lexa is sure has passed over her own face, when she threatened the other Clan leaders) and she becomes positively <em>steely</em>.</p><p>“I can’t sacrifice my people anymore. If you do anything to hurt Octavia, I’ll tell everyone we knew about the missile.” Her eyes rove around Lexa’s face once more, like she is searching for something, and then she turns and leaves. There is stillness in the tent and Lexa tries to force back the tears that burn her eyes, tries to get her feelings under control again. (But it is hard, because Clarke has ripped the scabs off her wounds and left her alone, bleeding and in pain, asking for trust when Lexa has spent her entire life avoiding it—or at least, attempting to avoid it.)</p><p>Feelings don’t make you weak, Clarke had said.</p><p><em>I know</em>, Lexa wants to tell her. <em>But hiding from them is so much safer, fraught with so much less pain. </em></p><p>(The thing she does not want to dwell on—the fact that she has trusted and cared for Clarke since their meeting, since meeting this girl who was her counterpart in every way—is on the forefront of her mind, and Lexa shelves her pride, roughly patches up the wounds caused by Clarke’s words, and makes a new resolution: With Clarke, with Clarke she would always be honest.)</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Though she knows she should, she cannot regret it.</p><p>It is soft and sad, tinged with loss and fear, tasting of bittersweet hope and expectation. It is warm and effervescent, and she thinks the breath has been knocked out of her lungs, the beat stolen from her heart.</p><p>For a moment—brief and practically tangible—it is almost as if the stars shine only for them, as if the very tilt of the world is dependent on the fact that they are together, that they are somehow tethered. For just a moment, Lexa is free from all the death that weighs her down, all the responsibilities that plague her mind, all the <em>duty</em>that has hardened her heart.</p><p>For just a moment, Lexa is not alone.</p><p>And so, though she knows she should, she cannot regret the kiss.</p><p>She does not want to.</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>She accepts the Mountain Man’s offer without hesitation because this is what she was born for, what she was raised for: to put her people first, to look out for their best interests, to protect them—sacrifice <em>everything </em>for them—so that they could live long, prosperous lives.</p><p>She knows that when the doors open, it will be to a flurry of bullets, and it will be <em>her</em>people who pay with their lives. And the Mountain Man is giving her everything she has ever wanted: he tells her the hundreds imprisoned within the Mountain would be set free, he tells her that they would never need to take her people again, he tells her that decades long strife between the Mountain and her people would finally—<em>finally</em>—come to an end. It is what shehas worked for, what she swore she would do when she created the Coalition—it is a promise, one of the few promises, she is actually able to keep. There is nothing to justify her staying behind, nothing to compel her to choose to fight rather than save her people. As desperately as she wants to help Clarke, ensure Clarke gets out of this day alive, she is the Commander, she is <em>heda</em>.</p><p>And <em>heda </em>belongs to her people.</p><p>It has never been about what she wants or needs. She had known that since she killed Glen, since she held Costia at arm’s length, since she allowed Nia into the Coalition even after her own personal cost. Not once, since she became <em>heda</em>, has she allowed herself to think of her own desires.</p><p>(And if that is a lie, if she has been selfish twice since meeting Clarke—first by pulling her out of Tondc and then by kissing her—she pushes the thoughts away. This, this moment now, is the true test. Would she really be willing to allow her people to die merely because she cares about Clarke?)</p><p>(She is <em>heda</em>, and <em>heda </em>belongs to her people.)</p><p>(She was supposed to be the rain after a drought, but for the first time, she realizes she will need a successor who can wash away <em>her</em>sins.)</p><p>And really, when confronted by what she desires and what she is duty-bound to do, the choice is devastatingly easy. (She has always been special, she has always understood duty.)</p><p>So when the Mountain Man makes his offer, Lexa accepts without the slightest bit of hesitation.</p><p>And she tells Clarke that she cares (she swore to herself that she would never lie to her again). She tells Clarke that the decision was made with her head and not her heart (she swore she would never lie, but it hurts, it hurts to admit that her heart screams, that it bleeds, that it sheds tears Lexa cannot allow from her eyes). She tells Clarke she has a duty to her people (she swore she would never lie, but she omits that had she been anyone else—had she been in a position to be selfish a third time—she would do it in a heartbeat).</p><p>(If she had not grown up with the burden of responsibility, if she had never known what it meant to push away one’s own desires, if she had never been forced to make impossible decisions, if she had just been someone <em>normal</em>, someone who had never been considered special, she could have taken Clarke by the hand and sworn they would fight this enemy together.)</p><p>(But Lexa is <em>heda</em>. And <em>heda </em>belongs to her people.)</p><p>She tells Clarke, “May we meet again,” pretending the tears in Clarke’s eyes will not haunt her, pretending the waver in Clarke’s voice does not cut through her, pretending that this will not be goodbye—pretending, pretending, pretending as always.</p><p> She turns around and walks away, her hardened heart turning to ice, frozen shards somehow managing to send frigid blood to every extremity. (She dies yet again, here now, beneath the dishonorable deed she has committed, and though she does not regret it, she knows—this is the moment, she knows, she is far to brittle to continue to bend—Lexa is lost forever. After all, Clarke had been the one to uncover her shriveled heart, who somehow tended to it, fed it—let it grow. Leaving Clarke to die meant abandoning that newly thriving heart. Leaving Clarke to die meant sending it back into the shadows, far from the light it needed to flourish.)</p><p>(Her people need a leader, and where Lexa is weak, <em>heda </em>is strong. So Lexa must go.)</p><p>(<em>Hodnes laik kwelnes</em>, she knows this. Believes this.)</p><p>(But here now, as she nearly buckles beneath guilt and sorrow and the icy stabs of pain in her chest, the mantra is no longer enough to protect her bleeding heart.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Five pt. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: I love you guys so much that I actually went back and watched parts of seasons 2 and 3 to write this, but then I thought, you know, fuck season 3. and that is what this chapter is about</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They call her <em>Wanheda</em>, and seemingly overnight, she becomes a legend.</p>
<p>(Wennin is the first to bring her news of this newest ‘threat.’ He rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he describes what he has heard in the marketplace, not quite believing the rumors.)</p>
<p>
  <em>Her eyes glow red when she kills.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She is imbued with the power of the stars, can still a heart with merely a finger.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>When she speaks, it is not only Mountains that fall—trees crumble and oceans part for her.</em>
</p>
<p>And the most damning comment of all: <em>Even </em>heda<em>—the great and powerful </em>heda<em>—is no match for </em>Wanheda<em>. </em></p>
<p>(The truth is a little more complex, of course. The truth is that Lexa knows she is no match for Clarke, though it has little to do with politics or special powers. The fact is, Clarke represents an entirely new sort of haunting that Lexa is not quite sure how to navigate—after all, this is the first time someone she has let down is still alive to complain about it. The truth is she is not afraid of what Clarke may do—she is the Commander after all, she was born for this—but she <em>is </em>afraid of what Clarke may say.)</p>
<p>But more than anything—more than the general reluctance Lexa has to acknowledge the gossip for her own personal reasons—the rumors are frustrating. While she does not care much for whispers about a blonde-haired, blue-eyed god wreaking havoc and bringing death everywhere she goes, she knows it is only a matter of time before someone will want that power for themselves. And whether that someone wants to kill Clarke or use her, Lexa knows she will eventually need to step in.</p>
<p>(It is for her people, of course: to prove that she is still their <em>heda</em>, to prove that none are above her and ensure this peacetime lasts, to ensure the Coalition remains intact, to maintain the alliance. Her desire to step in has nothing to do with wanting to protect Clarke.)</p>
<p>(She thinks if she repeats that mantra enough times in her head, eventually she will halfway believe it.)</p>
<p>Lexa rubs the skin around her newest tattoo, the latest set of boxed swirls she had added to the two she already had. It had seemed right to honor Gustus in some way. Despite everything she told Anya, the anger and <em>despondency </em>she’d felt when he forced her hand by breaking her laws, Gustus had always been more than just her protector. He had been more than a friend, more than a teacher. It was only his efforts to show her the world was unforgiving and cruel, that those with soft hearts only suffered, that kept her strong—that made her a better leader. Only now, her fingertips tracing over the tattoo, she wonders if her efforts to do the same with Clarke (to imitate the man she loved like a father) had ever been worth it. After all, just how successful had she been if Clarke had turned her back on the people she had devoted everything to saving?</p>
<p>(More to the point, just how successful had Gustus been when each breath Lexa took felt ragged, that each beat of her heart seemed to shift the shards of pain embedded in her chest?)</p>
<p>Sighing, Lexa pulls on her coat, cold fingers buckling it tight. Titus has expressed time and time again that <em>Wanheda </em>is none of her concern. (“Even with <em>Wanheda’s </em>so-called power,” he has said, “there are none who are stronger than you.”) His focus is more on the unrest within the Coalition itself. With the threat of a common enemy gone, leaders like Pel have grown bold. And Lexa has heard from spies and scouts that Nia has once again been gathering her army.</p>
<p>A year, she thinks. It took merely a year for the Coalition to begin to fracture.</p>
<p>She ignores the breakfast Wennin has placed in her chambers and instead closes her eyes, mentally preparing herself for her day. She has not had a moment’s rest since the Mountain fell—between villagers scared of <em>Wanheda </em>and warriors ready for battle against the Sky People, she is continually in and out of meetings and talks. Then there is the ambassadors’ recent impatience and borderline insubordination concerning the matters to do with Clarke and trade agreements that are ‘no longer sufficient’ especially now that the threat of a common enemy no longer ties the twelve clans together. Several of the clans believe they can go back to being on their own, chafing under Lexa’s continued rule.</p>
<p>She is more than just frustrated. She has reached a wall—she has reached the point where she <em>must </em>act. And she hates the realization that she has very little leeway to avoid an all out war.</p>
<p>With a sigh, Lexa finds herself taking the familiar walk down to the dungeons. She has visited him every single day since she returned to Polis, but they have done little more than talk in circles. She has not been able to see him as anything but a hassle, and he seems content to be a burden she just cannot seem to shake off.</p>
<p>Perhaps today that should change.</p>
<p>She nods to Reed as she passes, pushing the heavy door to the dungeon open, listening to the now familiar sound of metal sliding against metal. She passes several empty cells before she reaches the one where he is housed—hidden away in a corner, hidden away somewhere no one would think to look.</p>
<p>(Normally, she’d put Titus or one of the lesser members of the Guard in charge of this prisoner, but there is a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that tells her to keep this quiet—to keep him a secret. And she has always trusted that feeling; it has not steered her wrong yet.)</p>
<p>“Roan,” she says, her voice echoing in the small space. It takes a moment, but the body curled up in the corner of the cell slowly stirs.</p>
<p>“Commander Lexa,” he grumbles, lifting his head. His hair is matted and grimy, and he runs his fingers through it as he pushes himself up to sit with his back pressed against the wall, one knee pulled towards his chest. He looks terrible, but his eyes are just as calculating as ever. “My answer has not changed since yesterday. I refuse to return to the Dead Zone and I refuse to return to my mother as your spy. So kill me now and put us both out of our misery.”</p>
<p>“You know, I’ve been thinking about you lately, Roan,” she says, ignoring him entirely. His eyebrows shoot up.</p>
<p>“I’m flattered, <em>heda</em>,” he smirks. When Lexa’s expression does not change, when she merely continues to stare at him impassively, the smirk slides away. “Fine. Please, do explain.”</p>
<p>“You chose the Dead Zone over your mother, and now you choose death over both. What’s changed?”</p>
<p>“There’s a reason they call it the Dead Zone,” he answers, shrugging half-heartedly. “To survive there…you need a reason. And I’ve lost mine.”</p>
<p>“Then perhaps we can have an accord after all.”</p>
<p>“I will not return to my mother, Commander. I don’t care what sort of offer you make me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t particularly care for your mother, Roan,” Lexa says, nearly rolling her eyes. “I’ll lift your banishment if you bring me the girl they call <em>Wanheda</em>. I want her alive and unharmed.”</p>
<p>“And what makes you think you can trust me?”</p>
<p>“Because I’m giving you something to live for,” Lexa answers, hand going to the knife sheathed at her waist. “You bring me the girl, and I’ll give you your freedom.” Roan does not speak immediately, his eyes narrowing as he studies Lexa for any hint of a lie, but then he lets out a deep laugh.</p>
<p>“Very well, Commander. Better to be your errand boy than my mother’s. I have your word that I’ll be free if I bring the girl? No tricks? No conditions?”</p>
<p>“You have my word, yes. Bring her to me unharmed and you can live out your life free from your mother’s reach and free from my Coalition’s wrath.”</p>
<p>“Then I suppose you were right, we <em>can</em>have an accord,” he says, grinning. “But answer me this, <em>heda</em>. What’s so special about this girl that you need her, and why don’t you entrust her capture to your own people?” He grins, but it is weak and twisted, a mockery of his former easy charm. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown paranoid since I last saw you.”  </p>
<p>“Are you really going to question my offer? Do you <em>want</em>to be trapped in here forever?” Immediately, Roan’s expression changes, a flash of desperation appearing in his eyes before he is able to hide it. <em>Queen Nia is not the only one who knows how to take advantage of weaknesses</em>, she thinks as she stares him down, unflinching and cold. She watches as he swallows hard, hands clenched tight—whether in anger or hatred she does not know or care.</p>
<p>“I hope this <em>Wanheda</em>lives up to her name, Commander,” Roan says, voice hard. “And I hope she manages to do what I did not.”</p>
<p>“What was it like?” Lexa asks, ignoring Roan’s meaningless attempt at intimidation. “What was it like hating the woman who raised you?” To her ultimate surprise, Roan laughs, relaxed once more.</p>
<p>“Honest,” he answers. “Not that you would know anything about that.” He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Don’t worry, <em>heda</em>, I’ll bring you the girl.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They are weak,” Indra grunts, shooting Anya a glare. “Hunting is still difficult for them, they have no crops, and they think we don’t see them approach the Mountain.”</p>
<p>“They only gather supplies, Indra,” Anya mutters, rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>“Yes, for now. But they know <em>heda’s</em>law—they know no one is to come and go from the Mountain, yet they do it anyway.” She huffs, continuing to ignore the place set up for her, the food Anya piled onto a plate going untouched. “With the exception of my former second and Marcus Kane—”</p>
<p>“—yes, yes, we know,” Anya interrupts, waving a hand, “all the Sky People are worthless. But <em>heda </em>promised—”</p>
<p>“—giving them land and a ceasefire is different from allowing them so much freedom, the <em>disrespect</em>—”</p>
<p>“—you cannot expect them to understand our ways without giving them time to <em>learn</em>—”</p>
<p>“—they’ve <em>had </em>plenty of time—”</p>
<p>“Enough,” Lexa says, Anya and Indra falling silent immediately. They turn to look at her with identical expressions of expectation, as if both of them are sure that Lexa will side with them. Despite herself, Lexa finds it oddly amusing. “Indra, go back to Tondc. Tell Marcus that I have been patient with him and his people. Remind him of his promises to me when I gave the Sky People their ceasefire.” Indra nods, her lips quirking as she eyes Anya. “Anya, you will go with her,” Lexa continues, watching as that slight smile disappears. “Make sure Tondc and the surrounding villages have the resources they need,” she stops, thinking of the missile, of the two hundred fifty people who burned, and she swallows, “and make sure the orphaned children have homes, and bring any who do not to Polis.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha</em>, <em>heda</em>,” Anya and Indra respond in unison, glaring at one another as they do so.</p>
<p>“One last thing,” Lexa says, causing both women to pause and turn back to her. “Tell Marcus that I want to meet with him in a week’s time.”</p>
<p>“You give the Sky People too much credit,” Indra scoffs, shaking her head. “They do not deserve to have an audience with the Commander of Twelve Clans.” Pride has slipped into her voice by the end of the sentence, just enough that it makes Lexa pause, makes her wonder when and how she earned Indra’s loyalty and respect, and why it had not dissipated in light of all her sins.</p>
<p>“But the Coalition is why I must see him,” Lexa says slowly, wary of revealing too much, but also curious to see the reactions of the two people left who knew her <em>before</em>, when Costia was hers and she was Costia’s, when she was still idealistic, when she bought into Costia’s faith in her. “Perhaps it is time to offer peace once more.” Strangely, neither Anya nor Indra look surprised by Lexa’s pronouncement. In anything, Indra’s lips purse as if she had expected this and Anya turns her head, clearly attempting to hide a knowing smile.</p>
<p>“If you want this to work, Commander,” Indra says, her tone suggesting she is not sure if she wants it to work, “you will need more than Marcus Kane. You will need the Sky Girl, <em>Klark kom Skaikru</em>.”</p>
<p>“I agree,” Anya adds, rolling her eyes when Indra raises her eyebrows in mock surprise. “You will need to convince ‘<em>Wanheda.</em>’” Anya rolls her eyes again, clearly finding the honorific Lexa’s people have afforded Clarke to be silly. “She is their leader, even if they do not yet know it.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Lexa murmurs, turning her head to look out the window behind her, taking in the view of Polis stretching out below her. Her people are safe, free from the Mountain Men for the first time since the Beginning. And to keep it that way, to maintain this peace, all she needs is Clarke. Foolishly, she finds herself wishing she could have brought Clarke to Polis under different circumstances—not as a last resort to stave off war, but to introduce Clarke to the people to whom she belongs, the people who belong to her. “I suppose you are right. We will need Clarke of the Sky People.”</p>
<p>(She does not mention that she has already taken steps to ensure just that. But then, judging from the way Anya eyes her, she does not need to.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wennin keeps a respectful distance as she strides down the hall, towards where her Nightbloods sleep.</p>
<p>(She is grateful to her Guard at the moment, grateful that he had not said a word when she told him what she wanted from him, grateful that he keeps his eyes carefully averted as she struggles with her feelings.)</p>
<p>(She should have done this <em>years</em>ago. She should have been <em>better</em>.)</p>
<p>She pauses in front of the room that her youngest <em>natblidas </em>share—Saul had not been able to sleep well until Kara had suggested that he share a room with Cain and Lukas, the three of them pressing their beds only feet apart, using each other to stave off nightmares. At the time, Lexa had been disappointed—with Kara, and with the three young boys. <em>Weakness</em>, she had thought. But now…now she is glad that they have managed to find some measure of comfort.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, it is nearly sunrise. If you wanted to do this before Titus notices they are gone—”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes,” she says, eyes still on Saul’s sleeping form. “Hand me the bag, and stay here until I return.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda.</em>”</p>
<p>“And Wennin, will you make sure the others get one too?” She does not wait for his nod before turning away from him and heading to the rooms at the very end of the hallway.</p>
<p>In no time at all, she has a bleary-eyed Aden and Kara following her into the Commander’s garden, both of them attempting to keep polite expressions in front of her while making confused looks at each other.</p>
<p>(It is a stark reminder that they are <em>children</em>, no matter how much they have grown, how much they have shouldered to protect the younger <em>natblidas</em>.)</p>
<p>(And this, this is a test. It is always a test.)</p>
<p>“When I reached my twelfth summer, Anya snuck me down to the garden in the middle of the night,” she tells them softly, motioning for them to sit before doing so herself, “and she told me it was not fair that as <em>heda-</em>to-be I was not afforded the same ceremonies as the other seconds.” Lexa opens the bag Wennin had handed her and takes out a single honeycake. Aden and Kara immediately share a look, seemingly speaking without words.</p>
<p>“We are sorry, <em>heda</em>,” Kara says quietly, hanging her head. “We are not twelve.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I missed it. For both of you.”</p>
<p>“It was not your fault, <em>heda</em>,” Kara says, nudging Aden slightly. He nods in agreement.</p>
<p>“You were building the Coalition. And then Costia—” He cuts himself off, looking horrified.</p>
<p>“I have neglected you,” Lexa says after a short pause, allowing the surge of pain at the mention of Costia to subside. “In more ways than one. I know I am late, and I unfortunately only have one, but at least one of you should enjoy a honeycake.”</p>
<p>“Aden is closer to his twelfth summer, <em>heda</em>,” Kara says immediately, “it should be his.”</p>
<p>Lexa nods slowly, handing the sweet over to Aden, watching him carefully as he holds it in his hands, a frown on his face. “The others,” he says slowly, “what about the others?”</p>
<p>“What about them?” Lexa asks, pretending as though she does not understand his concerns.</p>
<p>“Maia is actually entering her twelfth summer. And Saul—what about them?”</p>
<p>Lexa thinks of the honeycakes that are sitting in the kitchens, ready to be sent up to the other <em>natblidas</em>. She thinks of how for breakfast this morning, before Titus has a chance to round up her Nightbloods and subject them to his training for the day, they will have sweets and fresh milk and bread, even fruit.</p>
<p>She smiles slightly at Aden. “This treat is for you alone,” she tells him.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, please,” he mutters, “let me share—at least with Kara.” He looks over at Kara, and before Lexa can say a word, is already splitting the sweet in half.</p>
<p>(It is a test, it is always a test. And it is a test she is glad her two eldest <em>natblidas </em>passed—effortlessly.)</p>
<p>“Enough, Aden,” Lexa says softly, grabbing his hand before he can give half of his sweet away. “I have one for Kara too.” He eyes her, almost as if he does not believe it, and Lexa stifles a laugh, pulling out a second cake from her bag and handing it over to Kara. “And before either of you complain, the others will have their share as well.” She looks up at the sky, the first tendrils of sunlight bathing the garden in a golden hue. “In fact, they should be getting their share now.” Lexa reaches out and brushes Aden’s hair out of his eyes, raises Kara’s head with a gentle tap under her chin. “But before the two of you rejoin the others for breakfast, we have something important to discuss.”</p>
<p>“Have we done wrong by you in some way, <em>heda</em>?” Kara asks, looking worried.</p>
<p>“No, if anything I have done wrong by you,” Lexa murmurs.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand, <em>heda</em>,” Aden says, “is there something wrong?”</p>
<p>“Today I leave for Tondc, to meet with the Sky People about joining the Coalition. But I fear, no matter what the <em>Skaikru </em>choose, we will be thrust into war.” This is as honest as she has been about the situation with anyone, even Anya. And she knows she has made the right choice because Aden and Kara stare at her intently, worry in their eyes, but resolve in their expressions. They are strong. They are wise. And so much more importantly, they are <em>good</em>. “The Ice Nation finally has the excuse it needs to break free from the Coalition, and other Clans will follow. Especially now, when many believe that <em>Wanheda </em>is more powerful than the Coalition.”</p>
<p>(<em>You are the Coalition</em>, Gustus had said. And now, <em>Wanheda </em>is more powerful than <em>heda</em>.)</p>
<p>“Is it true? What they say about <em>Wanheda</em>?” Aden asks, and from the way he swallows, Lexa knows he has been spending too much time in Polis, has heard the rumors that fill the streets—that Clarke is roaming the lands, making her way to Polis to use the last of her powers on Lexa, to <em>bring death </em>to Lexa.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda </em>belongs to her people. And for my people, I abandoned an ally to die.” Aden and Kara do not react to the news, but Lexa had not thought they would; word has spread, and Lexa doubts there is anyone left in Polis who does not know that Lexa turned her back on the Sky People. Of course, most of her people also do not care—they never wanted the alliance with the Sky People in the first place. But for some, for some the dishonorable act makes Polis reek, so much so that Isolde’s flowers can no longer overwhelm the stench, Lexa’s blood-soaked stench. “Clarke would be justified if she wanted me dead.”</p>
<p>“No,” Aden says sharply, while Kara shakes her head emphatically. “She is not.”</p>
<p>“She just does not know you, <em>heda</em>,” Kara adds. “You are the rain after a drought. We need you.”</p>
<p>Lexa is too shocked to school her expression, blinking at her two eldest Nightbloods in confusion. “Where—where did you hear that?”</p>
<p>“Costia,” Aden supplies, looking wary. “When she told Kara and I goodbye before she left.” For the last time, he does not say, his eyes speaking for him.</p>
<p>“What else did she say?” Lexa chokes out.</p>
<p>“That you are too hard on yourself,” Kara says, biting her lip, “that you forget how much you have done and that we should remind you. That—” She cuts herself off.</p>
<p>“That?”</p>
<p>“That she loved us, and that you love us too, even if you could not say so out loud. She asked us to remember that, and promise to protect you.”</p>
<p>“Protect me from what? Myself?” Lexa asks, thinking of Costia, her dark eyes, the freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks. She thinks of the girl who passionately defended the thinkers and artists in Polis, the girl she had last kissed, last held, right here in this garden.</p>
<p>(She misses her, still. Wishes for her, still. The pain is different now, just as unforgiving, but almost bittersweet.)</p>
<p>(Every thought of Costia makes Lexa ache, but it also reminds her of what is important—the love she felt for Costia, the change she inspired, and the bleeding heart that Costia loved.)</p>
<p>“No, <em>heda</em>,” Aden says slowly, as if unsure if this is something he should share. “She asked us to promise to protect you from the <em>fleimkepa. </em>From Titus.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Marcus Kane is accompanied by a group of Sky People when he arrives at Tondc. To his right is Abby, who stares at Lexa with poorly concealed dislike, and to his left is Bellamy, who looks rather uneasy to be in ‘Grounder’ territory. Octavia follows them, staring at Indra as if hoping for an order, with Raven and the boy called Wells close behind. Marcus claims they make up a ‘council’ but Bellamy had snorted at the words, which makes Lexa uneasy about how well the Sky People are able to govern themselves if they cannot even agree on leadership.</p>
<p>(Not for the first time, Lexa wishes Clarke was here—Clarke, the <em>Skaikru’s </em>true leader, the only one who had any hope of unifying her people and having them join the Coalition peacefully.)</p>
<p>“We would have to put it to a vote,” Abby says, not at all enthused with the idea of joining the Coalition. “This isn’t something we can decide for everyone.”</p>
<p>“I don’t particularly care how you and your people wish to come to a decision,” Lexa says, feeling an ache coming on at the base of her head and feeling the urge to rub the back of her neck. She has dealt with so much worse—she will deal with so much worse—yet the Sky People have an uncanny ability to frustrate and irritate her. She avoids Anya’s eyes, knowing her former mentor can see the weariness beginning to burden her shoulders. “There will be a summit in two weeks with all the other Clan leaders. They have been told it is to negotiate a treaty with the <em>Skaikru</em>, but the summit can be about more than just a treaty. It is up to you.”</p>
<p>Abby mumbles under her breath, and Marcus smiles politely at Lexa before grabbing Abby’s arm and tugging her to the corner of the room, Bellamy following closely behind, whispering furiously.</p>
<p>“They’re going to make a big show about it, Commander,” the boy called Wells says, his eyes on the pages filled with Lexa’s tight, neat scrawl, “but they know we don’t have a choice.”</p>
<p>(This is the first time she has met Wells, but she has heard about him from Clarke. She has heard about his patience, his intelligence, his desire for peace, his keen mind for strategy.)</p>
<p>(Clarke spoke highly of him, and now Lexa knows why.)</p>
<p>“Why should we even trust them?” Octavia blurts out suddenly, glaring at Wells as though he had just betrayed her. “Have <em>you </em>forgotten what they did, what <em>she </em>did? To Raven? To Clarke? To our people?”</p>
<p>“You should hold your tongue before the Commander, you insolent—” Indra begins.</p>
<p>“—I’m not your second anymore, Indra. I don’t have to listen to you,” Octavia hisses, turning her glare on Indra.</p>
<p>“O, if Clarke were here—” Raven says, but Octavia interrupts once more.</p>
<p>“—but she’s not. She’s not here because of <em>her</em>. We trusted her once, and look what happened. You really want to make the same mistake again?” She shakes her head at Lexa, and without another word turns on her heel and stalks off. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, then Indra sniffs.</p>
<p>“All aggression, no sense of direction. Like a child, still.”</p>
<p>“<em>Em pleni</em>,” Lexa mutters, finally giving in and pressing her index and middle finger to the back of her neck, trying to relieve the ache. If anything, it makes it worse, and for a moment she is unable to block out the whispers, and the full displeasure of the former Commanders washes over her. “Raven, there is something I would ask of you, regardless of what your people choose.” Raven eyes her suspiciously, but she nods. “The Commander before me banned a great deal, including the study of science. I believe she thought that if she stopped her people from wondering about what could be, they would be content with what was. But times have changed, and what could be matters now more than ever.”</p>
<p>“Because people fell from the sky?” Wells guesses, frowning at her.</p>
<p>“No, because with the threat of a common enemy gone, the Coalition will fall without giving something for my people to strive towards.”</p>
<p>“That’s oddly honest of you, Commander,” Raven says slowly, eyes narrowed, “but I still remember your people cutting into my skin for something I didn’t do, you <em>leaving us </em>to die. Why should I help you?”</p>
<p>“Because you wouldn’t be helping just me,” Lexa says, thinking of Costia, of Eve and Ric, of the man who studied the sky. She thinks of them and their passion, and for a moment the ache in her head subsides. “I want to improve our aqueducts so that my people have better access to water. I want better ways to grow crop, so that my people never experience hunger. I want my people to be able to travel freely and still be able to speak to their families back home. I want better medicine, better infrastructure, those boxes that play music, and schools, where anyone can learn about these things and more.” Wells is smiling softly when Lexa finishes, Indra’s eyes have a vague shine in them (for she knows whose ideas these were, whose plans these were), and Anya swallows hard. Raven, however, is blinking rapidly.</p>
<p>“Commander, I—you know I’m only one person, don’t you? And all I really know is how to make things go boom?”</p>
<p>“You misunderstand, Raven,” Lexa says softly, watching as Abby and Marcus finish their conversation, Bellamy looking just a little mutinous. “I don’t want you to do this alone, I want you to <em>lead</em>the endeavor.” She can tell that Raven is overwhelmed, torn between an opportunity she finds attractive, loyalty to her people, and a deep sense of mistrust after everything that had happened. So she allows Raven an out. “You don’t have to decide now. If you wish to do it, come to Polis in two weeks with the others.”</p>
<p>Much later, long after Marcus and the others have left, Raven eyeing Lexa oddly as she walked away, Anya comes up behind Lexa and places a heavy hand on her shoulder.</p>
<p>“I hope the Sky Girl agrees. It is a good plan, I think Costia would have approved.”</p>
<p>Lexa touches the back of her neck, closing her eyes at the ache.</p>
<p>“I know,” she says, thinking again of Costia, the pain easing and the voices falling silent. “I am doing it for her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Roan returns to Polis with little fanfare, but he is accompanied by two people with bound hands and covered heads, instead of just the one that Lexa was expecting. Wennin and several other Guards shove Roan into the war room, guiding the two tied strangers much more gently to their knees before Lexa’s wooden throne. Titus stares, clearly confused at the interruption.</p>
<p>“What is this?” he says, his eyes flitting from the two people on their knees to Roan, and Lexa watches carefully, studying his expressions. What had Costia seen, she wonders. Was it the same thing she saw, when Titus had conspired with the Elders? Or was there more to her request to the Nightbloods?</p>
<p>(She was smart, clever, wary. Her job was to protect Lexa. Had she known something Lexa doesn’t? Something that worried her enough to go behind Lexa and ask others—ask <em>her </em><em>children, </em>the only people in the world Lexa would trust completely and without reservation, like once Isolde trusted her—to watch her back?)</p>
<p>“Don’t you know, Flamekeeper?” Roan snarks, raising his eyebrows as Anya and Reed strip him of his weapons and push him down to his knees as well. Indra motions for Wennin to stay and the other Guards to resume their post outside the door. “You are not as well-informed as I once thought.” Roan’s eyes fall on Lexa, and despite his tone, despite his bravado, she can see his unease.</p>
<p><em>I hope you know he is unworthy of licking the grime off your shoes</em>, Roan had said, only now does that sentiment strike her as odd. <em>Snake</em>, he’d called Titus. <em>Snake</em>.</p>
<p>“What is this?” Titus repeats, this time looking at Lexa. “I believed we were here to discuss the summit. What have you done?”</p>
<p>Lexa blinks. The tone is the same tone he has used with her since she Ascended. He has always challenged her, always disagreed, but has always eventually deferred. Yes, he conspired with the Elders, but once the Coalition began to form, his tune changed—he spoke highly of her, of what she had managed to do. He had seemed in awe of her. <em>You are special</em>, he had said after the Conclave. <em>The pain that brings the Commander to her knees? It is weakness, Lexa. Love is weakness</em>, he had said when she lost her entire world, when she desperately needed something to anchor her, protect her. She is not sure how much she agrees with him now, but at the time, she <em>needed</em>him.</p>
<p>(<em>Someone should place your wellbeing above all else.</em>)</p>
<p>(You <em>are heda</em>.)</p>
<p>“I don’t need your permission to act, Titus,” Lexa says, not even looking at him. She stares at Roan, and she clenches her fists.</p>
<p>(She cannot confront Titus, not yet. She has not trusted him with her plans for some time, but now she is unsure whether she can trust him with her life.)</p>
<p>(The Ice Queen, the Coalition, the Sky People, <em>Wanheda</em>, and now this…she has too many threats, too many enemies, too few she can trust.)</p>
<p>(Something had to give, something <em>had </em>to work. If it didn’t, between the ache in her head and the circling of her enemies like vultures, she does not think she will live through this test.)</p>
<p>“I must admit,” Roan says suddenly with a grin, “I did not expect a welcome party upon returning. Did you have that little faith in me, <em>heda</em>?” At his words, Titus scoffs, clearly putting it together, and he turns to Jon—his second—and mumbles something under his breath.</p>
<p>“Remove their hoods,” Lexa orders, ignoring Roan and Titus for a moment. Anya nods and steps forward, pulling off the hood from the one on the right first, revealing someone Lexa never thought she would see again.</p>
<p>Rox.</p>
<p>(He is gagged, and there is a gash above his right eye, blood still oozing from the wound. But he stares at Lexa with a crazed look, making muffled sounds as he shakes his head frantically.)</p>
<p>“I believe,” Roan says in a mock whisper, rolling his eyes when Reed presses her knee into his back, forcing him to straighten as he speaks to Lexa, “there is a great deal that even you, <em>heda kom kongeda</em>, do not know.” </p>
<p>Anya pulls the second hood off, revealing the person Lexa <em>was </em>expecting: Clarke.</p>
<p>(Hate fills Clarke’s eyes as she stares Lexa down, as she watches Lexa get to her feet and approach slowly. She is bloody and bruised and so utterly <em>hard</em>, and Lexa cannot help it. <em>What have I done</em>, she thinks, aching to remove the gag in her mouth, to unbind her hands, to hold her close and apologize for everything she has done.)</p>
<p>“You were only to bring me Clarke unharmed, what is this?” Lexa asks, motioning to Clarke’s wounds and to Rox’s presence. Roan shrugs, as best he can with Reed standing behind him and keeping him on his knees.</p>
<p>“I found her, covered in blood and laughing,” he says, and Clarke tugs on the rope around her wrists, struggles until Anya steps forward and shakes her head minutely. Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa sees Indra shift slightly, her hand on her sword, clearly preparing for something to go wrong. “She kept saying she killed the last Mountain Man and that only one person was left to kill.” Roan shrugs again, not looking particularly bothered. “<em>He</em> was with her. It seems as though he has been helping her, protecting her.” </p>
<p>Lexa’s eyes move from Clarke to Rox, who is still shaking his head, still trying to say something through the gag. “And you thought to bring them both?”</p>
<p>“I wish only to serve,” Roan says, looking amused. “Do you think he knew, <em>heda</em>?” he asks rhetorically, eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you think he knew he was helping <em>Wanheda </em>come after <em>you</em>?” </p>
<p>This does what nothing else had done thus far—it causes an uproar.</p>
<p>“How <em>dare </em>you speak to the Commander this way?” Indra roars, drawing her sword and approaching Roan. Even Titus sneers, distrust on his face as he stares Rox down. Reed presses a blade against Roan’s throat, and Anya and Wennin pull Clarke and Rox to the side, out of Indra’s path.</p>
<p>(War is coming. Her brother has been helping Clarke. The summit is in ten days and she is no closer to a deal with the Sky People. Titus cannot be trusted. The Coalition is fracturing.)</p>
<p>(The pain at the base of her head is becoming worse every day, and she is finding it harder and harder to keep the previous Commanders silent, to keep their desire for bloodshed at bay.)</p>
<p>Lexa cannot help it—she pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>?” Wennin says worriedly, but Lexa raises her free hand and he falls silent.</p>
<p>“Out. Everyone but Anya and our guests, get out,” she says, opening her eyes. She waits until they do as she says, ignoring Titus’s obvious desire to remain behind, then she lets out a sigh. “I should have taken more breaks before I Ascended,” she adds mirthlessly, thinking of Luna for a moment, ignoring Clarke’s confusion and Anya’s worry. She turns to Roan. “You’ve earned your freedom, why are you still here?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps you and I are more alike than I thought,” he says, shaking his head and getting to his feet. “Both of us are hunted by family.” Clarke does not look surprised by the information, and Lexa swallows.</p>
<p>“Rox is nothing like Nia. If he was helping Clarke, he had good reason,” Lexa says, glaring at Roan and hating that the words feel false on her lips. She has not heard from nor seen her brother in years. She knows nothing of his motivations. Not anymore. “It is time you left Polis, Prince Roan of <em>Azgeda</em>.” This <em>is </em>news to Clarke, because her eyes widen as she turns her head to stare at Roan.</p>
<p>But Roan shakes his head. “I want a new deal. I want to join your Guard.” </p>
<p>Lexa can’t help it, she laughs, the sound ringing out in the silence, magnified by the room that once felt too small for Isolde’s commanding presence and now feels too small to prepare for all that comes their way. “You what?”</p>
<p>“You heard me,” Roan says, now looking annoyed, eyes flickering over to Anya for a moment before he turns his gaze back on Lexa. “I want to join your Guard. You need someone to watch your back, especially now. Why not let that someone be me?”</p>
<p>“Why would you even want to protect me?” Lexa asks, realizing that Roan is serious, and curious despite herself as to what brought this on. </p>
<p>“Something he said, actually. Before I brought him here,” Roan explains, nodding towards Rox, who is <em>still </em>trying to say something with his eyes and frantic head shaking. “There’s a war coming. We all have to choose a side. And <em>heda</em>, if the choice is between you or my mother, it is no choice at all.” </p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, he is <em>Azgeda</em>, he cannot be trusted,” Anya spits, pointing her knife at Roan. “He was the one who told Nia about Costia in the first place.”</p>
<p>“He also purposely failed to assassinate me and brought me Clarke and my brother.” She stares at Rox, at Clarke, and she can tell that this is not the reaction they were expecting. But she thinks of Titus, and all the other threats quickly approaching, and she wonders if she can really afford not to trust anyone. Something <em>had</em>to give. Perhaps it could be this. “Very well, Roan. You may join my Guard, but you will join from the bottom—as Reed’s second.” Roan opens his mouth to complain, but falls silent as she holds up a hand. “Once I know I can trust you, I’ll stop treating you like a child. Now go, find your first. You have a lot of work to do.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha</em>, <em>heda</em>,” Roan bites out, bowing before sweeping out of the room.</p>
<p>“Anya, untie Rox,” she says, once she is sure Roan is gone.</p>
<p>“<em>Heda—</em>”</p>
<p>“—<em>now</em>.”</p>
<p>Anya sighs, but does as she is told, cutting the rope chafing Rox’s wrists and then removing his gag, immediately moving so that she stood between Lexa and her brother. Lexa places a hand on her former mentor’s shoulder and shakes her head.</p>
<p>“Roan seems to think you were helping <em>Wanheda</em>,” she says, “that you came all this way to have me killed. Is that true, <em>bro</em>?”</p>
<p>“Wren nearly died,” Rox says, his voice raspy, thick, and full of pain. “We were ambushed, attacked, by <em>Azgeda</em>scouts. Shortly after the Mountain fell.” He motions with his head towards Clarke. “She saved Wren’s life.” He gets to his feet, dusting himself off before meeting Lexa’s eyes. “I owed her, Lexa. She had saved Wren. So I helped her stay alive, promised to help her find and kill the man named Emerson. I even promised to bring her to Polis. But no, Lexa. <em>Your </em>death is not something I would have helped her with. <em>Never</em>.”</p>
<p>Lexa is not able to respond. At that moment, Clarke manages to free herself from her gag, and she begins to scream.</p>
<p>“You liar!” she shouts at Rox, struggling against her bound hands. “You’re all liars! I hate you, I <em>hate </em>you,” she continues, turning her ire on Lexa. “I’m gonna kill you, I hate you, I’ll <em>kill </em>you!”</p>
<p>Lexa swallows hard. “Anya, Rox. Take her.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>,” they say immediately, dragging Clarke out as she screams herself hoarse, her words ringing in Lexa’s ears as she stares out at her city.</p>
<p><em>What have I done? </em>she wonders again, closing her eyes as she ignores the silent tears rolling down her cheeks and the whispers in the back of her head.</p>
<p><em>Die, die, die</em>, they chant, though this time it is not a call for war—it is a call for her own head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is there something wrong, <em>heda</em>?” Aden asks, looking up from his book and eyeing Lexa curiously. His dinner sits mostly untouched, though Lexa is not sure whether that is because he does not like being singled out this way, or if he merely has no appetite.</p>
<p>(She would not blame him if it was the former, and if it is the latter, she understands too well how food seems to turn to ash at the thought of more war.)</p>
<p>“No. Why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“You seem worried all the time. And…” He pauses, then forges on. “You keep touching the back of your neck. Is something hurting you?” He fingers the yellowed pages of his book, then snaps it shut, making Lexa wince.</p>
<p>“Those books are fragile, Aden, you—”</p>
<p>“—is Kara right?” he asks, not listening to her. “Does she know something I don’t?”</p>
<p>“That depends on what Kara is saying,” Lexa murmurs, closing her own book and giving Aden her undivided attention. “What is she saying?” she asks when Aden does not speak.</p>
<p>Aden swallows, looking smaller than his fifteen summers—the same age she was when she went through the Conclave. He is ready, more than ready. He can best her when they spar, and even Titus admits he is clever and wise. And Aden has never had any issues with compassion.</p>
<p>“She says that the reason you spend so much time with us, with me, is that you are preparing to die. That you want <em>me </em>to take your place.”</p>
<p>“We all die, child.”</p>
<p>“Commander, this isn’t a joke,” he says tightly, hands clenching into fists.</p>
<p>“And I have not made a joke.” She gets to her feet and rounds the table, falling to her knees in front of Aden’s chair, placing a hand on his knee. “We all die, Aden. And you have always known that one of you would take my place.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he says, his voice panicked, “eventually. But you promised you would not leave us for some time yet. But now….”</p>
<p>“Now?” Lexa prompts, frowning at him.</p>
<p>“It is as if you are preparing to sacrifice your life for the Coalition. But you can’t, <em>heda</em>.”</p>
<p>“Aden—”</p>
<p>“—<em>no</em>. You don’t understand. We need you. All of us. The Nightbloods, the Coalition, the people of Polis. We <em>need </em>you, <em>I </em>need you. You can’t give up.”</p>
<p>“Give up? Aden, I haven’t given up,” she says, feeling a bit of anger creep into her tone, quickly overshadowed by the sense of pride she feels for Aden. She knows it is not easy for him to speak this way, she knows because she struggled to stand up to Isolde. He is strong, he is wise, and he is compassionate. Her Spirit has chosen wisely.</p>
<p>“You’ve told us of the Conclave, even Saul. Kara says you’ve been sending her on odd jobs throughout the city. And you’re having Maia spend time with Roan.” His chest is heaving, his eyes are wide, and he shakes his head. “You are setting up all the pieces so that when you fall the Coalition will still stand, but <em>heda</em>, without you we are doomed.”</p>
<p>“Enough, Aden,” Lexa says, getting to her feet. She clasps her hands behind her back and begins to pace.</p>
<p>“Commander, I—”</p>
<p>“<em>Enough</em>, Aden,” she repeats, coming to a halt. She lets out a sigh. “You <em>natblidas </em>are clever, <em>you </em>are clever, Aden. You noticed every sign, but you came to the wrong conclusion.”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” he says, blinking in confusion.</p>
<p>“The Commander before me used to say that I would bring the change she could not. In many ways, I thought the same way of the seven of you. Especially of you, Aden.” Lexa sighs again, and shakes her head. “But I decided long ago that I would share your burden. I am merely paving the way for change.”</p>
<p>“You…” He trails off, clearly still lost.</p>
<p>“I want to eliminate the Conclave, Aden. It is nothing but children killing children for an honor they should not want.” She begins to pace once more. “Isolde changed the rules when she chose me as her successor, when she claimed that the Conclave would merely prove what she already knew. I want to take it further, to have the Commander choose her successor without the need for a Conclave at all.” She stops, giving Aden a small smile. “I know you and Kara have spent nights discussing how to avoid killing the others during the Conclave. I wanted to help, to make it easier. To provide ways for you to appease our people when you Ascend without a Conclave. I wanted plans in place. Kara would help Raven of the Sky People bring change. Maia would act as the ambassador to the Ice Nation, someone you trust and who Roan will trust when he is King. The others as advisors and Guards. Do you see?”</p>
<p>Aden nods slowly, getting out of his chair and bowing. “I do see, <em>heda</em>,” he says slowly, his tone sad and somber. “I was wrong, it wasn’t the Coalition you are preparing for your death, it is us.” He gives her a pained look, tears spilling from his eyes, and Lexa finds herself speechless.</p>
<p>
  <em>You need not hide from me. I know you are anything but weak. </em>
</p>
<p>She remains still as he leaves, wondering if he is right. Is she just paving the way for her death? Making plans to simplify matters when she is gone? To give Aden what she did not have—a simple, <em>easy</em>, Ascension?</p>
<p>Is she really just preparing to die?</p>
<p>(<em>Die, die, die</em>, the whispers in her head hiss, the pain becoming unbearable for a moment, forcing Lexa to place a steadying hand on the table.)</p>
<p>(<em>Die, die, die, </em>the previous Commanders chant, the two voices that once took her side, frustratingly silent.)</p>
<p>Her breathing comes more quickly, her heart beats hard enough that she thinks her ribs will break from the pressure of it, and the room begins to spin before her eyes. She blinks quickly, attempting to collapse into her chair, but she stumbles, only saved from falling when she feels a pair of strong arms keep her upright.</p>
<p>“You’re having a panic attack, Lexa,” comes a soft voice, one that has haunted her dreams since the Mountain, haunted her every waking step. “Focus on me. Listen to me. Now breathe with me, okay?”</p>
<p>(<em>Die, die, die</em>, she hears, but Clarke’s voice manages to overwhelm the whispers enough to push them away, for the pain to subside just a little.)</p>
<p>“Clarke?” Lexa says as her breathing comes under control, as she becomes aware of her surroundings.</p>
<p>“I knew there was something wrong when I said I didn’t want to talk to you and you actually listened,” Clarke says, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s going on, Lexa? What aren’t you telling everyone?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They put something in your <em>neck</em>?” Clarke asks incredulously, looking like she wants to ask to see, but also looking wary of Lexa’s mere presence. Lexa is sitting on her couch, back against the armrest and legs stretched out in front of her, her head tilted to the side to ease some of the pain. Clarke sits on a chair across from her, looking around as though she could not believe she is there at all.</p>
<p>“Yes, the Spirit. Only the Nightbloods can carry it.” Clarke opens and closes her mouth several times, clearly unsure how to respond to such a statement. Finally, she refocuses, seemingly remembering she hates Lexa now.</p>
<p>“Maybe the Spirit is rejecting you. Maybe you’ve done enough that you’re just not worthy to lead your people anymore.”</p>
<p>(She says it like this will be something that has not occurred to Lexa, that somehow the words will inflict pain. But it had been Lexa’s first thought when the Spirit began to keep her up at night, drive her to seek out silence because of the throbbing in her head, asking Wennin to fetch her rags and warm water, and pressing the soaked pieces of cloth to the back of her neck so she could have a moment’s peace.)</p>
<p>(Clarke is hurting and dealing with self-hatred. Lexa knows, for she has felt the same. And so, though she would not have tolerated such a statement from anyone else, she allows it from Clarke.)</p>
<p>(And if part of it is that she is too tired to argue, well, there is no need to let Clarke know that.)</p>
<p>“You could always do the Spirit’s job for it,” Lexa says softly, motioning towards Clarke’s arm. “Strike me with the knife you’ve hidden in your sleeve, just like you wanted to when you took the life of the boy you loved.”</p>
<p>“I changed my mind,” Clarke scoffs, though her eyes give away her surprise that Lexa had known about the knife, “I don’t want to kill you. Not anymore.”</p>
<p>“And what changed?”</p>
<p>“Well, your brother for one. And I couldn’t help but overhear you earlier, with that boy. Aden?”</p>
<p>“Eavesdropping, Clarke?” Lexa asks, feeling amused and taken back in time.</p>
<p>“You’re heartless, ruthless, and you have no honor, Lexa,” Clarke says, ignoring Lexa, any softness dissipating suddenly, her eyes turning icy. “But your people see you as some sort of…savior. Why?”</p>
<p>“You would have to ask my people,” Lexa answers, closing her eyes. “Tell me, Clarke,” she says, wanting to make a point, “what would you have done?” She turns her head and opens her eyes, meeting Clarke’s gaze evenly. “What would you have done if you had been offered the deal? Save your people at the price of mine? Would you really have chosen differently?”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have betrayed my friends,” Clarke hisses, getting to her feet. Lexa lets out a sigh—either at the pain or Clarke’s self-delusion, she does not know.</p>
<p>“But you did,” she says, watching as Clarke’s expression falls, as her eyes go from icy to…empty. “Wells and Raven explained everything to me. You had friends in that Mountain. People who helped you, who you cared about.”</p>
<p>“Those deaths are on you just as much as they are on me,” Clarke says, and Lexa finds herself nodding.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she whispers. “Many deaths are on me. The deaths from when I was just fourteen and I could not stop my Commander from waging war, the deaths of those who fought for my Coalition, Glen’s death, Frieda’s death, <em>Costia’s </em>death, Tris’s death, Gustus’s death…why not add those who perished in the Mountain, and those who will die in the coming war with <em>Azgeda</em>?”  </p>
<p>(<em>Die, die, die</em>, the previous Commanders chant, and Lexa feels too weak to argue.)</p>
<p>“Aden was right, wasn’t he? You <em>are</em>preparing for your own death. You can’t do that, Lexa,” Clarke says, standing and grabbing Lexa’s hand. For a wild moment, Lexa thinks it is to comfort her, but then she realizes that Clarke is merely checking her pulse. She feels foolish for even having hoped for comfort. “Everyone needs you. I’m done, I can’t do this anymore. <em>You </em>have to deal with this threat.”</p>
<p>“You can’t run away from who you are, Clarke,” Lexa says. “You’re special.” Her vision begins to go black, and though she can see a blurry Clarke open her mouth, she cannot hear a word.</p>
<p>
  <em>Harden your heart, Clarke. You will be great.</em>
</p>
<p>And everything comes to an end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lexa. Lexa. Wake up, child.”</p>
<p>Lexa blinks groggily, her eyes adjusting to the brightness, at the wide expanse of white.</p>
<p>“I didn’t seek out the Commanders,” she mumbles, trying to sit up, but she feels a pressure on her shoulder, keeping her down. Her eyes widen when she realizes it is Isolde.</p>
<p>“No, as well you shouldn’t,” her <em>heda </em>tells her, eyes soft.</p>
<p>“The chip is killing you, Lexa,” says another voice, the woman in the white coat. Becca. “Isolde and I agree, you only have one option left if you want to live.”</p>
<p>“Why is the Flame rejecting me?” Lexa asks, feeling something twist in her gut. Was there so much blood on her hands that even the Flame, full of violent, murderous Commanders, thought she had gone too far? “Am I not worthy?”</p>
<p>“Lexa,” Isolde says gently, “the Flame never made you worthy. You were exceptional before you received the Flame, and you will be exceptional without it.”</p>
<p>“But—”</p>
<p>“—Lexa, I’m sorry, but we have very little time,” Becca cuts in, kneeling on Lexa’s other side. Becca clenches her jaw, and Lexa feels Isolde take her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “When I was alive, I built several versions of A.L.I.E., AI meant to protect the world. Of all those attempts, only two survived—the one that caused the world to end, and the one that helped build it anew.”</p>
<p>“AI? What—”</p>
<p>“—ask Raven. Now listen to me. Someone must have somehow activated the other version. So you have to destroy this one.” Lexa must look confused, because Isolde takes pity on her. </p>
<p>“The two Flames are connected,” she says, eyeing Becca for confirmation. “The other Flame is corrupting the one you carry, that is why you have been having the headaches, why you cannot shut out the Commanders. It is trying to kill you. But because they are connected, we believe if yours is removed and destroyed, the other will be destroyed as well.”</p>
<p>Lexa tries to sit up again, and this time, Isolde does not stop her. Instead, she allows Lexa to use her shoulder to haul herself up.</p>
<p>“What about my Nightbloods? Titus? What will become of them without the Flame?” She looks at Becca before turning her gaze to Isolde. “<em>Heda</em>, war with <em>Azgeda </em>is coming. How can I lead my people and the Coalition without the Flame?”</p>
<p>“You have already led them without the Flame, Lexa. It wasn’t the Flame that had Luna follow you, it wasn’t the Flame that gave you the idea for the Coalition.” Isolde smiles at Lexa, squeezing her hand and shaking her head. “You don’t need the Flame, Lexa, you never have.”</p>
<p>“More to the point, Lexa, if the chip in your neck isn’t destroyed, you may not have a people to lead at all,” Becca says.</p>
<p>“How much time do I have?” Lexa asks.</p>
<p>“We can give you a few hours, at best,” Becca says.</p>
<p>Lexa clenches her teeth and nods, pushing off the ground and forcing herself onto her feet, allowing Isolde to grab onto her elbow and prevent her from falling.</p>
<p>“Do it in secret, Lexa. You are right to distrust Titus, if he finds out….” Isolde does not finish her sentence, but she does not need to. If Titus finds out, he will have no loyalty to her at all.</p>
<p>“Act quickly,” Becca says. She smiles slightly. “It has been an honor, <em>Leksa kom kongeda</em>. You are the living embodiment of humanity’s best qualities—kindness, goodness, selflessness, and <em>love</em>. I won’t know how your story turns out, but I’m pretty sure I can take a good guess. Good luck.” And with that, she’s gone, leaving Lexa alone with Isolde.</p>
<p>“You will wake in a few moments. Be quick, trust only the closest to you, and be careful.”</p>
<p>“<em>Heda</em>, I—”</p>
<p>“I love you, Lexa. I have loved you since the day I saw you in your village, confessing to a crime that was not yours. And my love for you was what saved me.” Isolde presses a kiss to Lexa’s forehead. “Love is our <em>greatest</em>strength. It is why I sent Costia to you after Glen, why you sacrificed so much for the Coalition. It is why Aden will one day be a great Commander. And it is why you must be there now, for Clarke.” She pulls away, offering Lexa smile. “Just make sure that day does not come for some time yet.”</p>
<p>(It is said as an order, because it <em>is</em>an order. And Lexa laughs, feeling tears spill from her eyes.)</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>,” she says.</p>
<p>And she wakes up, frozen from pain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t you have anything?” Clarke is demanding, glaring at her mother over Lexa’s body. “What’s the point of dragging you here if you have nothing to help her?” Abby rolls her eyes.</p>
<p>“No, Clarke. I didn’t think to bring morphine with me from Arkadia to attend a political summit.” Lexa groans, immediately sending both Griffin women into ‘doctor mode.’ She waits until they are done before grabbing Clarke’s wrist and tugging her close.</p>
<p>“I need your help, Clarke,” she whispers, closing her eyes at a surge of pain. “We have to find Anya and leave Polis.”</p>
<p>“Are you crazy?” Clarke demands, eyes searching Lexa’s desperately. “You <em>passed out</em>, Lexa. And now you want to leave Polis? The summit is <em>tonight</em>.”</p>
<p>“We must go, it is urgent,” Lexa argues, getting to her feet shakily, barely avoiding a fall by grabbing hold of the back of one of her chairs.</p>
<p>“Commander Lexa, I really think—”</p>
<p>“—I need you to go find Indra. And Marcus Kane. I need you to buy me some time, make up some story about why we’ll be late. Anything but the truth, Abby.” To her ultimate surprise, Abby does not argue. She stares at Lexa for a moment before nodding, kissing her daughter on the forehead before leaving. “Clarke, we—”</p>
<p>“—yeah, I heard. Have to grab Anya and leave the city. Will you explain what all this is about?” Lexa nods.</p>
<p>“On the way,” she says. “Make sure you bring your knife.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Clarke says, helping Lexa take off her coat and instead pull on a cloak with a hood. She grabs a second one and throws it over her arm as they leave. “Just so you know, though, I really need your spirit to stay right where it is. I may not like you, but I need you here, with me.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Clarke,” Lexa says with a weak smile, leaning heavily against Clarke as they walk, hoping she will not be recognized under the hood. “This is a test, and I do not fail <em>heda’s </em>tests.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where are we?” Clarke asks, helping Anya with getting Lexa down from her horse. The pain is nearly blinding at this point, making her dizzy and not quite sure where she is. She hopes that Anya at least knows where they are, that they are a safe distance from Polis, that there will be no eyewitnesses.</p>
<p><em>Trust only the closest to you, </em>Isolde had said. That was Anya and Clarke. Her sister in all but blood and a girl she betrayed and left for dead.</p>
<p>(<em>Die, die, die</em>, the Commanders shout, and Lexa rolls her eyes.)</p>
<p>“Lexa would sneak off to this pond with Costia when she was younger. It was a safe place, away from prying eyes. Far away from anyone who would care what two children were up to,” Anya explains when Lexa remains silent, lost in a silent battle of wills against the Flame, urging the Commanders to <em>be quiet</em>. Lexa hears a fire getting started, but she is unsure if it is something happening in this present moment, or if it is a moment from long ago, a memory from the Flame. “She gave funeral rites to the others chosen by the Spirit here.” Anya clears her throat. “She met Costia here.”  </p>
<p>“Oh,” Clarke says softly, taking one of Lexa’s hands and helping her sit on the ground, legs crossed beneath her, hands on her knees, palms facing the sky. “What are we doing here?”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>, I got you here, but why?”</p>
<p>“You need to take it out,” Lexa mutters, closing her eyes.</p>
<p>Anya and Clarke speak at the same time:</p>
<p>“Take <em>what </em>out?”</p>
<p>“You want to remove the thing from your neck?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Lexa says, pulling her hair to the side. “Anya, give me something to bite on. And make sure I don’t move.”</p>
<p>“Lexa, are you—”</p>
<p>“—Clarke,” Lexa continues, ignoring Anya, “you will need to cut right here,” she points with her right hand. “Try to be as neat as possible, I want there to be no evidence of what we’ve done.”</p>
<p>“You can’t be serious,” Clarke says, shaking her head, “I’m not cutting into your neck.”</p>
<p>“Then I <em>will </em>die. You said you still needed me here.” She waits until Clarke nods in acknowledgement. “Then take it out and destroy it immediately.”</p>
<p>“You want to destroy the Flame?” Anya hisses. “Lexa, what are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course. With my life.”</p>
<p>“Then help me do this,” Lexa pleads—or as close to pleading as she has gotten since Isolde died. The whispers are not whispering anymore—it is loud, angry, overwhelming—and the pain stretches around her neck, as if someone has closed their hands around her throat. “Hurry,” she says, and something about her tone finally spurs them both to act. Anya takes off her belt and has Lexa bite down on it before practically sitting on Lexa to hold her down.</p>
<p>“Come on, Sky Girl. You heard, <em>heda</em>. Hurry.”</p>
<p>“This is insane,” Clarke says, but after a short pause, something hot and sharp is pressed against the back of Lexa’s neck. “God, I wish my mom had morphine,” Clarke mutters, and she slices through Lexa’s skin.</p>
<p>(Lexa remembers very little after that.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun has almost completely set when Lexa wakes up.</p>
<p>They are still by the pond—Costia’s pond—and Lexa is laying on the ground with the extra cloak Clarke had brought with her draped over her body, her head pillowed by Anya’s lap. She thinks, if she ignores Anya and Clarke’s whispering, she can go back to when she was eleven, when Anya had sat by her side after Lexa had been forced to betray Costia.</p>
<p>But she is not eleven. She has reached her twentieth summer, and she can no longer look back, can no longer afford to—not for her memories of Isolde, and not even for her memories of Costia. It is not about letting go, but learning how to move forward. To be free.</p>
<p>“Is it done?” she croaks out as she sits up slowly, feeling vaguely woozy. Clarke and Anya immediately fall silent, Anya hovering, to catch her in case she fell, and Clarke checking her wound and vitals.</p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s done,” Clarke mutters as soon as she is satisfied that Lexa is fine, “and you’re <em>crazy</em>. Did you even know what you had in you?”</p>
<p>“It is the Flame,” Lexa says, surprised when Clarke tosses something at her. She catches it, but barely, grimacing at the strange thing in her hands. It is charred and crushed, looking a bit like a spider. “It <em>was </em>the Flame,” Lexa corrects, turning it over in her hand, studying it carefully.</p>
<p>“No, that’s a highly advanced piece of tech. And it was weaving those tendrils into your <em>flesh</em>. I’m surprised you had any blood flow to your brain, Lexa. Honestly, I don’t even see how you’re alive right now.”</p>
<p>“How did you get it off?”</p>
<p>“The moment it got exposed to air it just…let go. And then your blood turned <em>black</em>. What the hell is that thing?”</p>
<p>“You heard her, Sky Girl,” Anya says, shrugging. “It is the Flame.” Despite her horror at learning Lexa wanted to destroy it before, now Anya seems utterly at ease with it—her mind likely changing about the wisdom of Lexa’s choice when she learned the Flame was trying to kill the Commander.</p>
<p>“It’s an AI,” Lexa explains, parroting Becca. “Though I don’t know what that is.” She closes her fist around the Flame, feeling it break further apart in her hand.</p>
<p>“You’re <em>kidding</em>,” Clarke says, mouth falling open. “You’ve been controlled by an artificial intelligence this <em>whole </em><em>time</em>?” Anya makes an affronted noise from the back of her throat, but before she can speak, Lexa rolls her eyes and raises her hand.</p>
<p>“Don’t be foolish,” she tells Clarke. “I blocked out the Flame the day I Ascended. In fact, I’ve only ever used it once, to speak with Isolde.”</p>
<p>“You blocked an AI,” Clarke begins, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Wait, Isolde?”</p>
<p>“The Commander before me.” Somehow, this makes things worse for Clarke.</p>
<p>“You blocked out an AI that was accessing and storing the memories of the previous Commanders, that was advanced enough to <em>pass</em>as someone you knew well, and then tried to kill you,” Clarke mutters under her breath, beginning to pace. She stops suddenly. “What are you going to do with it?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Lexa asks, opening her hand and staring at the remnants of her people’s faith.</p>
<p>“There may still be information on that chip. Maybe enough to salvage Isolde. Don’t you want to keep that?”</p>
<p>Lexa gets to her feet slowly, turning to face the pond. She takes a deep breath, and without a second thought, throws the crushed, charred pieces of the Flame into the water, watching it sink to the depths. When she turns back to take in Clarke’s shocked expression and Anya’s curious look, she finds herself smiling, the lightest she has felt since she Ascended. She wonders how much of that missing weight is the Flame, and how much is just relief at being alive.</p>
<p>“There’s no use dwelling on the past, Clarke,” she says softly. “We should hurry back, our people are counting on us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Had someone told her just two weeks earlier that her brush with death, having the Sky People join the Coalition, having <em>Wanheda </em>swear fealty and secretly swearing fealty in return, and getting Raven to finally agree to help continue Costia’s work would be the <em>easy </em>part, Lexa would have called them a liar.</p>
<p>But now, she has to wait—wait for word from her scouts, wait for the ambassadors to send for their Clan’s leaders, wait for her warnings to reach Nia, Pel, and anyone else who thinks they would be better off without the Coalition, wait for word from Wennin, wait, wait, wait.</p>
<p>And though she knows that she must be patient—it takes as long as it takes—she finds herself increasingly antsy. And increasingly, she finds herself in her garden. Though, increasingly, she is not there alone.</p>
<p>“So let me get this straight,” Clarke says, walking to Lexa’s right. It is normally reserved for Titus, for the <em>fleimkepa</em>, but what need was there for a Flamekeeper when there is no longer a Flame? “Your Commander broke tradition by raising you. And you thought you would just toss tradition out the window entirely?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly,” Lexa says, coming to a stop. “Isolde didn’t break tradition by raising me, she broke it by trusting me.” <em>By loving me</em>, Lexa does not say, but Clarke nods slowly, so she thinks Clarke has heard it anyway. “I represented Commander Isolde in her stead. I was afforded authority and respect I had not earned because she deemed it to be so. And I deem it to be so for Aden and the others.”</p>
<p>“So do you think of them as an extension of you?”</p>
<p>“I think of them as Isolde thought of me. Or as Abby thinks of you,” Lexa says softly, realizing with a pang that she must talk to Aden soon.</p>
<p>“Interesting,” Clarke murmurs, her eyes falling on the wisteria flowers Isolde loved so much. They’re in full bloom now, in the middle of spring, the scent carried beyond the tower and into the streets of Polis itself. “I guess you’re not so heartless after all.” She sighs and looks back at Lexa. “Why do they call you the rain?”</p>
<p>“Where did you hear that?”</p>
<p>“Where <em>haven’t </em>I heard it?” Clarke returns, rolling her eyes. “Anya, Roan, Rox, Aden and Kara sat me down and told me you were the ‘rain,’ even that boy, Titus’s second.”</p>
<p>“Jon,” Lexa says, unable to suppress a smile at the thought of Aden and Kara sitting Clarke down and explaining what Lexa had come to mean for her people. Kernels of truth embedded in embellished and fantastical tales, most of which frame Lexa in a light she does not deserve.</p>
<p>“So? What does it mean? They all say it, but none of them seem to know why.”</p>
<p>“Commander Isolde called me the rain after a drought,” Lexa explains, reaching out to touch the wisteria, thumbing the petals gently. “She believed that I would wash away her sins, her mistakes, said that I would bring beauty to the world.” Lexa releases the flower and turns to Clarke. “But she was wrong. I am not the one who will bring beauty to the world. These flowers won’t bloom for me.” (<em>If she was the rain after a drought, then Costia was the first ray of sunshine after a storm. </em>And Aden, Aden and her other Nightbloods, are new life—a new era—meant to take root and grow into something <em>breathtaking.</em>)</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Lexa,” Clarke says, eyeing her oddly. “From what I remember from Earth Skills, these flowers seem to be in full bloom to me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lexa has always prided herself on her ability to wage war.</p>
<p>Gustus had called her smart, but the truth was a little more complex. She strategized, planned for exigencies, assumed that things would go wrong. She is good at predicting how her enemies would act—she had known Nia would fall for her ploy outside her castle because of pride, she had known Clarke would offer desperate pleas to keep her people alive. So it is embarrassing, humiliating, and downright <em>infuriating</em>, that she falls into a trap herself.</p>
<p>“How long has this <em>Pike </em>been working with Nia?” Lexa asks, leaning over the table, hands braced on her either side. Clarke stands to her right—she is always to Lexa’s right, much to Titus’s annoyance—and Anya stands to her left, arms crossed over her chest. “How long, Bellamy?” she repeats, trying to keep the heat from her tone, but knowing she has been only somewhat successful. “And why didn’t we know sooner?”</p>
<p>“Farm Station fell inside <em>Azgeda </em>territory, Commander,” he says. “We didn’t even know they were there until we searched Sector Seven looking for Clarke.”</p>
<p>“So he’s been working with her since the Ark fell,” Lexa answers for herself. She thinks back to those first few days after the Ark fell. Had she sent scouts to the other clans? Had she told them to tell her if Sky People had fallen in their lands? Or had she assumed the clans would say something if they too had people fall from the sky?</p>
<p>It is an assumption that has proven to be deadly.</p>
<p>Nia has used Lexa’s own tactics against her—keeping her attention with a massive army gathering at <em>Trikru </em>borders, while Pike and his men laid waste to villages further north, leaving the Rock Line and Broadleaf Clans desolate. So many dead, all only so that Nia could showcase her ally.</p>
<p>(To strike a point home to Lexa.)</p>
<p>“Have we heard from Alford or Clement?” she asks, looking over at Reed and Wennin.</p>
<p>“They are still riding to Polis.”</p>
<p>“And the other Clan leaders?”</p>
<p>“Scouts have reported that Pel is riding into <em>Azgeda </em>territory. He is likely turning his back on the Coalition. But the others, thus far, are answering to you.”</p>
<p>Lexa pushes away from the table, clasping her hands behind her back and turning away. “Do you have an estimate, Marcus, of how many <em>Skaikru </em>this Pike leads? How much of <em>your </em>people’s weaponry he has access to?” Clarke reaches out and gently squeezes Lexa’s elbow.</p>
<p>“Our people,” she reminds Lexa softly, her voice barely a whisper, and Lexa nods in response. She turns back to the table, noticing that Titus’s eyes are on Clarke’s hand, that his lips are twisted into a displeased frown. Filing that away for later, Lexa refocuses.</p>
<p>“He has maybe fifty who follow him and at most two dozen guns. But that’s not really our problem,” Bellamy explains.</p>
<p>“So what is the problem?”</p>
<p>“He has a radio, Commander,” Wells says, speaking up for the first time in any of their war meetings. He has been named the ambassador to Arkadia, and when Raven agreed to work out of Polis, he had brought her and a radio with him. “He’s been using it to spread propaganda and lies about the Coalition and you. We think there are groups who sneak him supplies from Mount Weather. I don’t think it’ll take much to convince them to take up arms.”</p>
<p>“So what you’re saying is that Nia has amassed an army at my borders, but I will not be able to count on at least two Clans because <em>Pike </em>has terrorized them, a third Clan has decided to join Nia, and the newest member of my Coalition has so much unrest within its own walls that it may soon have a civil war.” Silence follows Lexa’s words. She counts to ten in her head, then turns to Raven. “Could you jam the radio signal, at least prevent Pike from further inflaming the situation?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Raven says, “but that would mean Polis could no longer communicate with Arkadia either. And Kara and I would have to pause several of our projects.”</p>
<p>“It may just fan the flames,” Marcus adds with a sigh. “Denying them the ability to talk to their loved ones may give them more of a reason to defy the Council and the Coalition.”</p>
<p>“And I assume finding and banishing these <em>rebels </em>would also fan the flames?” Lexa asks.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Commander,” Marcus says with a nod.</p>
<p>“Why don’t we just…play along?” Clarke suggests suddenly, grabbing Lexa’s elbow again and tugging her forward. Once more, Titus’s eyes follow the action.</p>
<p>“What are you talking about, Clarke?” Octavia says, her eyes narrowing. “You want everyone to pretend we’re working against Lexa?”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Clarke says, her eyes sparkling, as they did when she’d been struck by a plan after escaping the <em>pauna</em>, when Bellamy finally came through and she’d had the chance to develop a full-scale invasion of the Mountain. Lexa nearly smiles at the sight, worries and fears momentarily forgotten. There had been a part of her that thought she would never see that spark in Clarke’s eyes again. (<em>You were born for this, </em>she told Clarke. And here now, is the proof.) “Besides those of us in this room, Arkers can’t tell the difference between Ice Nation and <em>Trikru</em>. We can lead them into battle, thinking they’re fighting for Pike and against the Coalition—”</p>
<p>“—when in reality they’d be fighting Ice Nation,” Bellamy finishes. “That’s a good plan, Princess.” Lexa feels her hands clench involuntarily at the look that passes between Bellamy and Clarke, and she forces herself to relax, to focus.</p>
<p>“No,” Lexa says with a sigh, “it’s too much of a risk.”</p>
<p>“Lexa—” Clarke starts hotly, but Lexa just shakes her head.</p>
<p>“What if someone gives up the ploy? Or what if you sell it too well and those who support the Coalition now choose to fight against it tomorrow? No,” she repeats, shaking her head again, “the <em>Skaikru </em>are my people now. We must fight Pike’s lies with the truth, not with more falsehood.” She reaches out and places a hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “I will do for the <em>Skaikru </em>what I did for the other clans—I will promise them peace, protection, and prosperity, and I will show them what it means to be in the Coalition.”</p>
<p>“You cannot be serious, <em>heda</em>,” Titus says, speaking up for the first time. “They just said that their own people squabble with each other, and you wish to throw yourself into the fray?” Lexa eyes him calmly.</p>
<p>“My decision is made, <em>fleimkepa</em>.”</p>
<p>“You will get yourself killed!” he shouts. “For what? For <em>Skaikru</em>?”</p>
<p>“Wennin, escort Titus out. He needs to take a walk and calm down.” Wennin nods and moves to grab Titus, but he shrugs Wennin off, stalking out the room without a backward glance. Lexa nods at Wennin, and he leaves as well. “Now," she continues, as if no interruption has taken place. "Let's continue. Clarke?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rox and Wennin find her before she is able to find her bed.</p>
<p>“You were right, <em>heda</em>,” Wennin says, looking oddly serious for once. Rox swallows.</p>
<p>“Remember the man who warned us about the Ark? That was the man obsessed with stars that Costia was headed to see. I tracked him down, like you asked. He said he had grown up in Polis, that about two weeks before word spread that the head of your Guard was murdered by <em>Azgeda</em>, he was found. He claims that the two Guard who found him said he could keep his life if he left Polis. He claims that he was told exactly where to move to.”</p>
<p>“And we don’t know who the two Guard are?”</p>
<p>“No, Lexa, but Roan—and I do not know how much faith we can have in him—says that it was <em>Jon </em>who released him after you were injured. Apparently, Jon believed Titus had orders from you to release Roan.”</p>
<p>“I see,” Lexa says, feeling something bubble up inside of her that she has not felt for a long time. <em>Hate</em>.</p>
<p>“That’s not all, <em>heda</em>,” Wennin adds sorrowfully. “He left the city today, for nearly four hours. I’m sorry, I could not follow him without being noticed.”</p>
<p>“No, you did well,” Lexa says, waving Wennin’s apology off. “Find Jon, see what he knows. Watch Titus carefully. And be careful, Wennin. Do you hear me?”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>,” he says, bowing low and leaving. Lexa turns her attention to Rox.</p>
<p>“Someone needs to protect the <em>natblidas</em>,” she tells him, looking at him with a raised chin.</p>
<p>“I know, Lexa.”</p>
<p>“Do you? Because they are <em>everything, </em>Rox.”</p>
<p>“Lexa, I understand.”</p>
<p>“If I entrust this to you…you cannot leave again. If you can’t handle this, being here, you have to say so now.” </p>
<p>“Lexa,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of her. “I was wrong. I abandoned you when you needed me most, I was selfish when you needed me to be selfless. I can’t fix the past, but I can swear I will never leave again. Let me do what I should have done after Costia died—let me help you.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Lexa says, averting her eyes and lowering her chin. “Let Anya and Reed help you. But no one else. Not until we find out which of the Guard remain loyal to me.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sha, heda</em>,” her brother says, getting to his feet.</p>
<p>“And Rox,” Lexa stops him, grabbing his forearm and giving it a light squeeze, “I’m glad you’re back.”</p>
<p>“I missed you too, little sister.”  </p>
<p>He is gone before she can reprimand him for his presumptiveness, but she also finds it does not matter.</p>
<p>Having feelings does not make her weak.</p>
<p>Allowing them to rule her actions is a risk to her people, a dereliction of her duty.</p>
<p>But hiding from them? That is not something she will do—not anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She startles awake, for a moment unsure where she is or why. Polis is usually bustling with noise, even in the middle of the night, and the silence that meets her as she shakes off the last vestiges of sleep unnerves her.</p>
<p>(Polis is preparing for war. <em>Again</em>, she does not say. <em>I am so sorry</em>, she cannot say.)</p>
<p>“Here,” Clarke says, suddenly by her side, holding a cup of water out. She rolls her eyes at Lexa’s expression. “I was walking by when I heard yell. Wennin let me in.”</p>
<p>“He isn’t supposed to,” Lexa sighs, but she sits up and accepts the water anyway. For a moment, as her eyes adjust to the dim lighting from the still lit candles in her room and she gets her breathing under control, Clarke is content to remain silent. But then she clears her throat, as if trying to warn Lexa she wants to speak and allow Lexa the opportunity to gather her thoughts before she does.</p>
<p>“Do you have nightmares often?” she asks, and Lexa wants to laugh. Does she have nightmares often? Only every night, that brief respite Costia afforded her when she slept pressed tightly to Lexa’s side long gone.</p>
<p>(And Lexa knows what Clarke is really asking, because Lexa has heard Clarke’s nightmares too, has seen her jump awake, breathing hard, eyes wide. She knows that Clarke wants to know if she will ever be free from the nightmares that drive her to avoid sleep entirely, nightmares that follow her even under the bright light of day.)</p>
<p>(The truth is that Clarke is more like Lexa than she knows or realizes. She is haunted by what she has done, and she always will be.)</p>
<p>“Nightmares are the least of our burdens, Clarke,” she finally says, hedging. For whatever reason, this makes Clarke let out a mirthless chuckle, shaking her head. She shifts so that she is sitting on Lexa’s bed, her hand falling dangerously close to Lexa’s, their shoulders practically brushing. (Lexa allows the familiarity Clarke presumes because she is <em>Skaikru </em>and her ways are different from Lexa’s. She allows it because she has not allowed anyone close to her since Costia died. She allows it because Clarke’s words, <em>not yet</em>, ring in her ears, and hope she has not allowed herself to feel since the Mountain that the <em>yet</em>would one day come fills her chest.)</p>
<p>“What are your nightmares about?” Clarke asks, eyes on her lap. And Lexa’s first thought is that she should not say—these are her deepest secrets, her most personal ghosts, and revealing them to Clarke is dangerous. Feelings will always be used against her, and even worse, Clarke could be targeted if anyone suspected how close she allowed Clarke to get. But her second, and more overwhelming thought, is that Clarke can be trusted with her feelings, and that as <em>Wanheda</em>, Clarke is already a target. If anything, being close to Lexa may afford her a measure of protection, at least from the Clans that remain in the Coalition.</p>
<p>“Many of my choices haunt me, Clarke,” Lexa says, thinking particularly about abandoning Clarke at the Mountain (a choice she cannot regret, but is haunted by nonetheless), turning to look at her, though Clarke keeps her eyes averted. “But tonight’s haunting is an old one. My nightmare was about Costia.”</p>
<p>“Do you dream of her often?” Clarke asks, something odd in her tone. Lexa frowns but lets it go, shaking her head.</p>
<p>“No, I rarely <em>dream </em>of Costia. And my nightmares about her aren’t really about <em>her</em>,” she admits. “The Costia I knew was very different from the one who haunts me at night and blames me for her death.” At that, Clarke looks over at Lexa, her eyes roving over Lexa’s face.</p>
<p>“Do you regret it? Loving her?” she asks, looking like the answer is important to her, and for once, Lexa does not understand what Clarke is really asking. Is she asking about Finn? About her love for the other <em>Skaikru</em>, her mother and her friends? Does she genuinely want to know about Costia? Lexa does not understand.</p>
<p><em>There is no cure for regret</em>, Isolde had said. <em>But there is no shame in love. </em></p>
<p>“At my lowest, I thought I did,” Lexa confesses, closing her eyes. She finds that that is not a lie. She regrets a great deal about her past, specifically about her relationship with Costia. She regrets not protecting her better, not being there when Costia needed her. She regrets not telling Costia how she felt more often, pushing her away because she thought it would somehow save her. But loving? She does not think she could regret loving Costia, even if she wanted to. “I don’t regret it,” Lexa says, smiling and opening her eyes, for the first time, her thoughts of Costia leaving her aching but mostly full of fondness.  “I couldn’t. I am who I am today because I loved her. I will always love her, even now that she is gone.”</p>
<p>“What about love being weakness?” Clarke asks, raising one eyebrow and attempting to be sardonic, though her eyes give her away when they flick down to Lexa’s mouth for just a moment.</p>
<p>“I won’t apologize for how I managed to survive and keep going after Nia took Costia from me,” Lexa says, her tone soft despite the harshness of her words. “But recently, a leader like me—someone whose people would fight and die for—suggested that maybe life should be about more than just surviving. And I think she may be right.”</p>
<p>“Lexa, I—” Clarke starts, her eyes now fixed on Lexa’s mouth, her breath becoming ragged, “I’m trying. I’m trying not to see you turn your back on me every time I close my eyes, I’m trying to bear what I did to the people in Mount Weather, and being here, watching you in Polis has helped, but I….” She stops talking, her words trailing off listlessly and her eyes dropping to where their hands are barely centimeters apart. “You probably think I’m being weak, right?” she finally finishes, letting out a strangled sigh. (And Lexa thinks about her anger at Isolde when she was a child, she thinks about Indra and her acts after Lexa first Ascended, she thinks of Titus—how he has run out of chances. Clarke is very much like Lexa, she is a leader, she was <em>born </em>for the position she now fills. But Lexa thinks she has forgotten that though Clarke was born for this, she was not <em>raised </em>for it. Lexa’s entire life prepared her for the role she has to play; Clarke only began her training when she fell from the sky. It is something she is determined not to forget again: Clarke is still learning, and she must shoulder Clarke’s burden until Clarke can carry it on her own.)</p>
<p>(And maybe, <em>maybe</em>, a part of her hopes that they can shoulder the burden, share everything, together one day.)</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Clarke,” Lexa murmurs, moving her hand slightly so that she can hook a single finger around one of Clarke’s. After a moment, Clarke sags, her head dropping onto Lexa’s shoulder, her hand shifting so that she is threading her fingers through Lexa’s. And Lexa offers what she had wished she could ask for since she was old enough to realize the duty she was being prepared for, things that were only ever given to her sporadically and briefly, things she swears now to never let Clarke go without: comfort, safety, and total acceptance. “You need not hide from me, I know you are anything but weak.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>just a few explanations in case it's unclear what I've changed. emerson is dead, he has no role in this. jaha does make it to the city of light and screws things up a little but then he dies. I didn't really care enough to imagine how. in any case, that whole chip plot is dead and will not make a further appearance in this fic. it was a shit storyline</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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